


What Dreams May Come

by amandaterasu



Series: Finding Forever on the First [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Love, Mental Anguish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 123,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaterasu/pseuds/amandaterasu
Summary: *** This work will have MAJOR Shadowbringers spoilers. It is assumed you have finished all available Main Scenario Quests, and will discuss topics therein. The author is not responsible for you being spoiled if you choose to read this before you finish them. ***Urianger Augurelt still mourns his first love, but has awakened to love for the (female) Warrior of Light. I am doing this as best I can to be race and name agnostic, so you can project your own personal WOL onto the WOL in this story.I have rated this fic explicit, however, all smut scenes will be in their own separate chapters, so that those who do not wish to read them can skip over them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this. 
> 
> I have noticed there are very few Urianger/WOL fics on AO3 (it appears most people just... continue to act as if Moenbryda didn't die?), so I am testing the waters by posting this prologue. If you like it, and would like to see more, please leave kudos or comments so I can gauge interest in this fic and determine if it will be worth the investment of time required to write it.
> 
> I hope you like it!

**_Eight Years Earlier, in the First_ **

Urianger Augurelt huddled in between the books in the Umbilicus of the Crystal Tower. G’raha Tia stood before him, explaining this grand plan which had been brought about by the greatest minds of their age after the Eighth Umbral Calamity, which had claimed the life of the Warrior of Light.

The Crystal Exarch told him of his plan, to have the Warrior of Light kill the Lightwardens throughout the first, and then he would absorb the corrupted aether from her, and cast himself into the Rift, where he will be unmade as a consequence of the unmaking of his timeline. That Urianger was the key to this plan, as he had long since proven himself willing to take any measure to save the Source.

As Urianger prepared to leave, the Exarch smirked. “I admit, there is one other reason.”

The elezen raised an eyebrow, and followed as the exarch crossed the room, and plucked a book from one of the piles. It was bound in faded-black, with a small piece of aetheryte pressed into the center of the cover, above text that proclaimed it a collection of tales of the Warrior of Light.

Smirking, the Exarch handed it to Urianger. “The footnote, page five hundred and eighty-three.”

Urianger opened the book, and sped through the pages, attempting to avoid dismal events that had happened, or had yet to happen. His eyes alighted on the small 583 in one corner, and he read the footnote.

G’raha Tia, for his part, was rewarded for his efforts by seeing the stoic Urianger Augurelt’s face go from confusion, to shock, to scorn, to confusion _again_ , a flicker of despair, then finally, realization, acceptance, and a tiny amount of joy, before the shutters of stoicism slid back into place.

“I fear thy source is quite mistaken, my friend,” Urianger said, though it took him more effort than usual to keep his voice steady. “She hast not… that is to say… I dare not… I…” His face flushed as he found himself at a loss for words.

The Exarch grinned wickedly. “I’m afraid there is no doubt. Of the records remaining in my time, independent sources confirm the attendance of the Sultana of Ul’dah, and many other notables besides, at the happy event.”

Urianger looked down at the page again, trying to quell the riot in his heart and mind. No matter what questions he posed, the text remained, clear as day:

> The Warrior of Light had wed one of her fellow scions, Urianger Augurelt, some two years after the Liberation of Ala Mhigo, so scholars generally assume that he had a hand in all of her adventures after that point. Records rarely state so, of course, but given the groom’s known predilection for secrecy, this is not really surprising.

**  
_Present Day_  
**

Urianger stood in the Waking Sands, staring at the page before him. He couldn’t make out the words, through his tears, but still he stared, as if by sheer force of will he could set aside his grief and lose himself in work.

Minfilia had told him to take all the time he needed, yet he could not permit himself that luxury. In the silence, the stillness, he could hear Moenbryda’s voice.

“You failed to protect me. What makes you think you and this _exarch_ can save her?”

In a flash, Moenbryda was leaning against his desk, her bemused smile twisted into a cruel smirk. “Honestly, Urianger - how much pride can one man have? You failed. Admit it. Accept it. What makes you think you will succeed now, when the stakes are that much higher?”

Suddenly, he was standing in the darkness, and the bodies were before him. Alphinaud and Alisaie, still, unmoving, and between them… her. Ever since the Exarch had told him of the plan, and the risk, this had been before him. This endless nightmare, welling up from self-doubt.

Urianger knelt and took the Warrior of Light’s body in his arms. She was stiff, and cold, little more than an empty husk, deprived of that vital aether that made her the woman he…

He didn’t have time to finish the thought. Moenbryda was there, standing over him. “You’ve failed again, Urianger. You kept your secrets, and she was not ready when the time came. You did not save her. _He_ did not save her. You didn’t even tell her you loved her, before she died.”

Her teeth flashed viciously, in that cruel smirk.

“Just like me.”

* * *

Urianger woke in a cold sweat and sat up in his bed. The scent of wildflowers drifted in from the fields that surrounded his cottage in Il Mheg. He could hear the pixies getting up to mischief outside, and silently thanked the Twelve for whatever distractions they might provide. He ran his finger around the rim of the pitcher on his nightstand, and aether stirred, filling the vessel with cold, clear water, before he washed his face, hoping to banish the dark thoughts the nightmare always brought. The same nightmare. Day in, day out, for eight years.

Urianger had not realized he’d had… _feelings_ for her, not until the Exarch had shown him the book. He had always assumed the warmth with which he regarded her merely a facet of friendship. Moenbryda had been his love, he had failed to find a solution in time, and she had given her life for it. After that, all thoughts of love had been colored by sorrow, and even now, when he tried to think of how he would approach _her_ , how he would _begin_ , he was overwhelmed by his feelings of unworthiness. He’d had eight years to stew in his feelings, to examine them from every angle, like a complex puzzle, and found that for his part, at least, the Exarch’s words were truth. He loved the Warrior of Light, though it had damned him to perdition. To save her, he must lie to her, so that the Exarch’s plan could proceed.

A giggle sounded from the chest at the foot of his bed, the handful of possessions he had acquired in his time here, and Urianger was pulled from his melancholy to find one of the more mischievous pixies, Feo Ul, sitting on the edge of it with her legs crossed, staring in bemusement.

“I didn’t know you slept skyclad, Urianger,” she said, snickering. He cursed and grabbed a pillow off of his bed, holding it before him. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she continued, and began swinging her legs back and forth, her heels hitting the side of the chest in a perfect, irritating, rhythm.

“What business bringst thee hither, Feo Ul?” Urianger asked. While he’d thanked the twelve for the pixies, this _particular_ pixie always seemed to be worse than most, and was a meddler besides.

“A message from the Exarch, friend,” Feo Ul drawled, as if she were setting up the punchline for a fantastic joke.

“I have not the time for thy riddles or games, at present. My work doth require my utmost attention, if it please thee.”

“Oh very well…” Feo Ul lifted herself from the chest with a flit of her wings, heading towards the window.

_One does not banish the fair folk_ that _easily_ , Urianger thought. He heaved a sigh as she reached the windowsill, and she stopped, turning to him, grinning wickedly.

“I wouldst hear thy message.”

The pixie’s smile grew. “I don’t think you would, Urianger. You don’t sound nearly excited enough for this news.”

A number of inappropriate insults shot through his mind in the moment he took to compose himself. “My Lady Feo Ul,” he began, giving her a low bow, still clutching the pillow in place. “I humbly request thy patience, and that thou wouldst see fit to deliver unto me the message our dear friend, the Exarch, has entrusted into thy beautiful and capable hands.”

Feo Ul, ever susceptible to flattery, giggled. “Oh Urianger, you always know how to talk to a lady!”

_If only thy words were truth_ , he thought to himself, as Moenbryda and the Warrior of Light’s faces flashed through his mind, but the pixie continued.

“The Crystal Exarch has asked me to tell you that she’s here.”

His blood ran cold, and he forced down a tempest of hope, twitched an eyebrow, and asked, “Whom dost thou mean by ‘she’?”

Feo Ul’s smirk widened into a grin, and she looked, for all the world, like the cat who licked the cream bowl from the wonder tales of his childhood.

“The one you cry for in your sleep, of course. The Champion of the Source.”


	2. Il Mheg, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light arrives in Il Mheg, causing Urianger to make an unexpected bargain with a pixie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it unusually difficult to not use a name for the WOL in the work (I keep finding myself using awkward titles and euphamisms). Would you prefer I keep avoiding a name, or would it not bother you? Let me know in comments!

A loud banging on the door to the Bookman’s Shelves ripped Urianger from his studies. Carefully, he tucked a scrap of paper in between the pages of a Voeburtian history book, ignoring the familiar commotion.

When he finally opened the door, Thancred stood without, Minfilia fidgeting nervously behind him. 

“There you are. I had half a mind to let myself in and make sure you hadn’t expired prematurely,” Thancred said, strolling past Urianger into his home as if he owned it. Minfilia followed timidly behind, watching everything with her luminous eyes. “I assume you’ve heard the news?”

“I have received a message from our friend who dwelleth within the Crystal Tower, if that be thy ‘news’,” Urianger said testily. His studies today had not gone well, mostly because he found himself continually distracted with thoughts of what to say upon his reunion with the woman of his affections.

Thancred pulled a bag from his belt, and tossed it to Minfilia. “Imbue those, won’t you?”

“Alright…” She replied, then looked to Urianger, who nodded his ascent. The scholar didn’t know why Thancred was such an idiot about this - the girl was much more perceptive than he realized, and his trick of telling her ‘go imbue something’ had been an obvious ploy to get her out of the way since the first time he tried it three years ago.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Thancred turned to him. “So, what are you going to say to her?”

Urianger winced. He’d made the mistake of confessing his feelings for the Warrior of Light to Thancred when they had met up at the Crystarium not long after the latter’s arrival in the first. He half-believed the man had slipped something into his drink to make him more talkative, and if that was the case he was pleased that _all_ he had revealed was the worthless imaginings of his heart.

Thancred, for his part, had developed a mild obsession with Urianger’s feelings, most likely as a way to ignore his own complicated emotions regarding Minfilia. Regardless of the reason, every one of his visits had been punctuated by bad advice and bawdy comments. Thancred had once given a very _detailed_ description of a certain act that he insisted was guaranteed to win any lady over once performed, and Urianger had been forced to throw the man out of the cottage bodily to get him to stop.

“I will most likely begin with a greeting, my friend, as that hath been, in mine own experience, the polite way one begins a conversation with a friend after a prolonged absence,” Urianger said, going to a nearby counter to begin making tea.

Thancred snorted derisively, “You know that’s not what I mean. Are you going to tell her?”

Sometimes, playing dumb was the best solution to Thancred. “About the visions I detailed for thee? Of course.” Though he hated lying to his friends, it weighed much less heavily on his heart than the prospect of having to lie directly to _her_. 

“Come off it, Urianger. I’m asking if you’re going to tell her… what was it you said?” Thancred pulled himself upright, standing as tall as he could, in what Urianger could only assume was a bad parody of himself. “‘She is the star, around which my heavy heart and unworthy soul hath been caught in eternal orbit.’”

Urianger opened his mouth to argue, but was saved by the sudden whistle of the kettle, and he removed it from the heat source, a circle of fae runes etched onto the counter top, before adding some dried tea leaves to it to steep. The simple act gave him a moment to center himself again. “Anything so personal that I may choose to discuss with our dearest friend wouldst be, by its very nature, _private_ , and thus thou wouldst not be privy to it, regardless.”

“You’re going to muck it up, then?” Thancred asked, helping himself to a handful of dried fruit.

“I have no plans to _‘muck it up’_ as thou so ineloquently chooseth to express it,” Urianger replied. He paused a moment, then sighed. “To bare myself to thee in honesty, Thancred, I have no plans, at present, to tell her of my affections. It wouldst be importuning and impolite.”

“Not going to tell her?” Thancred nearly yelled. “Have you run mad? She’s not some woman you pass by occasionally that you don’t know the name of, Urianger, she’s our _friend_. Don’t lie to me and say that you haven’t done _this_ ,” Thancred waved his hand at Urianger’s changed appearance, “in some hopes of drawing her eye. Muscles like that don’t magically appear overnight when you spend all day _reading_. Do you think she’ll be too stupid to figure it out? Do you think _Y’shtola_ will be, when you two invariably go see her? That woman can read you like a book. I’m not so daft as to think once you’re reunited with her you’re just going to stay here while she gallivants off on another adventure.”

Urianger pursed his lips, but said nothing, just poured the tea into three cups. If playing dumb hadn’t worked, perhaps letting Thancred bluster himself out would.

“By the _Twelve_ , Urianger, you’ve spent the last eight years tying yourself in knots and writing bad poetry about her. Do you really think anything will change if you don’t do something to change it? If you don’t say something then you’ll spend the rest of your days _mooning_ over her, and she’ll probably spend every moment she spends with you thinking she has something in her teeth, with all your _staring_.”

“I understand thy concern, Thancred, but I must remind thee that thou and I art trapped here upon the First, and she must one day return to the Source. I cannot find it in my heart to put the burden of my adoration upon her when I have yet to discern a path forward through that unhappy circumstance,” Urianger said.

“That may be, but you should celebrate what time you have. Don’t waste away in silence, when you could instead have memories to look back on if you are... separated.” Thancred’s voice was rough with emotion, his brows knit together in anger and frustration.

Wordlessly, the scholar set a cup of tea down in front of Thancred, and set another by the empty chair just as Minfilia came back in. “I’ve got your bullets,” she said, approaching Thancred and holding out the bag like an offering. The gunblade took them and secreted them away on his person, while the girl took her customary seat tentatively sipped her tea.

The three of them sat in silence for a time, Minfilia staring pensively into her mug, Urianger studiously ignoring Thancred, and Thancred glaring daggers at Urianger, who finally broke it by asking, “Minfilia, how art thou faring?”

The girl blinked a few times, surprised to be addressed. “I… I am well, Urianger, thank you.” She glanced anxiously at Thancred, who was still scowling. “Is everything… all right?”

The scholar gave Minfilia an affable smile. “Thancred and I merely find ourselves in disagreement on how I have chosen to handle an exceedingly personal matter.”

Thancred shot back, “It seems Urianger is eager to make the same mistakes he did before, and maybe even give us a second _Moenbryda_.”

The air in the room chilled, and Urianger carefully placed his cup back on his saucer. “Thancred, I fear thou hast gone too far this time. I request that thee and thy young charge depart, for now. I wilt see thee again at another time.”

Minfilia, her eyes wide and terrified, the doe that senses aught amiss, looked between the two men. Thancred’s face had already fallen - a sure sign, Urianger knew, that he had said something he regretted - but the elezen could not be rational right now. 

Urianger stood, and took his cup and saucer to the sideboard, staring down at the tea leaves in the bottom of the cup. He hadn’t read leaves in _decades_ , as he considered it an unreliable art, but he focused on the cup, now, desperate to calm himself. In the segment for the past, he saw the knots of leaves, reminding him of all the stressors that had come before. He heard the door shut, and paid it no mind as he continued his reading. In the present, a crescent, for introspection; a trident, for choices. In the near future, he saw the lines for travel, the chains of responsibility, and to his surprise, the sun of new beginnings. And in the far future, at the center of the cup, the symbol for a woman, the star for success, and the heart for love.

He had no idea how to react. The leaves were rarely this clear, and he already found his mind welling with aspersions. Of course they say this, now. He wouldn’t be surprised if some pixie was giggling in a corner, having heard his conversation with Thancred. It was moot, regardless. Who _cared_ if he loved her? She did not love him, which rendered the conversation immateriel.

Urianger cried out and threw the cup against a far wall, then nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Thancred’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Urianger. I know this… this isn’t easy. I will let you decide what to do. I’ll see you soon.”

Urianger heard the door click a second time, and when he turned to clean up the shattered porcelain, he was alone.

* * *

Days passed, and Urianger threw himself into his studies. No word came from the Crystarium, or anyone else, so he busied himself with his work - finding alternatives, in case the Exarch’s plan failed.

One had stood out to him, a ritual simply called a _Binding_ , but it was exceedingly esoteric and much mention was made of the Lifestream in the description, so he felt he may have to consult with Y’shtola to gather her expertise, to further direct his research, then probably conduct observations of the young Minfilia, and no small number of sin eaters. If he were to attempt to use it to thwart the corruption that may be within the champion’s soul, he wanted to be completely sure of the ritual’s effects.

He was deep in the middle of another book that mentioned the Binding, one that dealt with the interactions betwixt aether and the soul, when Feo Ul sprang into existence in his library, and began kicking a shelf with abandon.

“Stupid, _worthless_ sapling! I’m right _here_ , but does she call upon her blossoming branch? Oh no, never calls upon _me_ , even though she be run about by the other pixies from here to perdition!” The pixie howled, savaging a shelf with a series of kicks and punches that did little more than tire her out.

Urianger sighed, and tucked away the book. “Feo Ul, why art thou so troubled?”

Turning to him, the pixie let out a hapless wail, befitting the most dramatic stage play. “‘Tis your beloved _hero_ , Urianger! She and I made a pact. Now, she comes to Il Mheg. ‘Joy of Joys,’ I should be saying, but _no_ , she is playing with the other pixies and sparing _no_ ,” she slapped a book, “ _time_ ,” she kicked the shelf, “ _for_ ,” she pulled a book off the shelf, “ _ME!_ ” With a final, furious cry, Feo Ul threw the book dramatically onto the ground.

Urianger stood abruptly. “Sh… She hath found her way to Il Mheg?” He asked, looking down at himself. “Twelve forfend... Feo Ul, I am quite sensitive to thy plight, and thou hast my deepest condolences… but…” He looked around the room, frantically. He was wearing an unwashed robe, dirty dishes were piled on the sideboard, his books were in disarray, and he hadn’t had a bath in days. “Most understanding and beauteous Feo Ul… I canst not let the star of my soul see me in this unbecoming state.”

Feo Ul turned her rage on him, but Urianger got down on his knees, pleading. “My Lady Feo Ul, I beg of thee a boon. Assist me in my preparations, until she findeth her faculties and be reminded of her most blessed branch. Name thy price, I beg thee.”

Feo Ul instantly cooled. The lonesome scholar had made many bargains over his years, but he had never begged for one before. She thought on all the things she might request - flowers that always bloomed, turning him into a leaf man, a thousand of his mortal dreams - but then her butterfly mind landed on the one thing she knew would be the most entertaining.

“I will grant you this boon, Urianger Augurelt, _if_ …” Feo Ul smirked as Urianger’s eyes filled with maddened hope. For such a gloomy man, he could be quite passionate when he chose to be, “... _if_ you make a true attempt to woo my thoughtless sapling.”

Urianger balked. “What? Why would a pixie want that?”

Feo Ul could think of a number of reasons: first, her sapling obviously needed someone more intelligent to hold her hand. If Urianger were with her now, he would have told her to call upon her branch the moment she stepped foot in Il Mheg; second, Pixies adored parties, and weddings were always the best parties, with lots of drinking, laughing, and high spirits; and last, the idea of Urianger attempting to bumble through a courtship would keep the fair folk laughing for another century. However, she chose a different tack to take when explaining it to Urianger.

“That woman has a hard road ahead, and a shadow of loneliness in her heart. For all that she is a layabout, untrusting, wicked sapling, she is still _my_ sapling, and as part of our pact I wish naught but the best for her. For years, I have heard you whispering for her in your sleep. I think, if you were to try, you would give her great happiness.”

Urianger shook his head. “She doth not share my affections.”

Feo Ul snorted. “I didn’t ask you to change her heart. I asked you to attempt. Or are you as much a coward as that man who comes to visit you thinks?” Urianger’s face reddened at her words, but she continued, “Do we have a deal?”

“Fine, a deal is struck. I will attempt it, nothing more.”

Feo Ul preened over herself, then whistled loudly. Three other pixies appeared. “Help me clean this place up,” she barked, while waving Urianger toward the stairs. “Have a bath and a change of clothes.”

* * *

Urianger settled into the bathwater, trying to ignore the giggling downstairs. He’d placed a terrycloth square over his unmentionables, as the pixies kept coming in to check on him, and sprinkling various flowers into his bathwater.

He was already regretting the bargain he had made in haste with Feo Ul, but he could not countenance his beloved seeing him so unkempt. There was not for it, but to determine how he would woo her without offending her. He looked up at the ceiling, at the shifting reflections of the light off his bathwater on the beams overhead, and tried to think about courtship. 

Urianger had read all sorts of cultural treatises over the years that touched on the methods, but they all seemed to have a few things in common. Gifts, expressions of affection, seeking the permission of the lady’s community. He thought on Thancred, the Exarch, and Feo Ul’s opinions, and decided he had the third covered. The first two, gifts and expressions of affection, would have to be his primary concern for now.

Rubbing a piece of sweet-smelling soap one of the pixies had brought into his hair, he considered what he knew of courtship. Among the Elezen of the Source, flowers were the traditional first gift, to be given in public, and oft seen in other cultures as well. However, the traditional _Elezen_ response would be for the receiving partner to formally accept the flowers and wear them upon their person. Would she _know_ that, though? Given how intermingled the Eorzean cultures were, not even all Elezen of his own lineage knew, much less anyone else. He resolved himself to, at least, make a gift of flowers. Then, if she didn’t balk or shut him down, he would declare his intentions at a later time. 

He ducked his head under the water, using his long fingers to work the lather out of his hair. When he rose again, one of the pixies lingered by the door. “Feo Ul has been called for, so your _guest_ should be here shortly,” they said, before twisting out of existence with a pop of aether.

Clambering out of the tub and casting a quick drying spell as he went, Urianger rushed for his room at the top of the stairs. The Bookman’s shelves had two bedrooms, and one he kept in readiness for the guests that rarely came to Il Mheg, mostly Thancred and Minfilia. His own room, of course, was as filled with books as the rest of the cottage, but when he entered, he saw someone had laid out his nicest robe, clean and pressed. 

“I extend to thee my humblest thanks, Feo Ul,” he whispered, pulling the robe on over his head.

* * *

Urianger was pinning the last of his chains in place when he heard his front door open. Thancred was having an animated discussion regarding the troublesome pixies. He looked in the small mirror above his washbasin. Could he do this? He could do this. He had made a bargain with a pixie. A bargain, once struck, was binding, and he would suffer for it if he failed. 

He glanced out the window, to the brightly lit field of flowers beyond. He would have to gather some later. What colors would she even prefer? His mind raced, but he took a moment, closed his eyes, and centered himself.

Urianger took his courage in both hands, and descended the stairs.

* * *

The Warrior of Light was more beautiful than Urianger remembered. Even ignoring physical beauty, the way she smiled upon seeing him again took his breath away. As he stood there, trying to keep his composure while he lied to her about the vision, explained the way the various elements worked within the First, and got Thancred to recount his encounter with Minfilia of eld in Nabaath Areng, he was overcome by how he could have been so _blind_ to his own yearning for her. It was like one of those illusions artists made, at times, to surprise and delight their patrons - a picture, hidden deep within another, that was impossible to ignore once you knew it was there.

Thancred explained their plan to find the Lightwarden of Il Mheg, and slay it, as the Champion had done in Holminster Switch. That brought Urianger from his reverie, and he turned his sight to the aetherial, examining the soul of the woman before him. The corruption of the woman before him was plain. It was not severe, yet, but he could see it there, that tiny twist of light aether, like ink falling in pure water. He was reminded of the _Binding_ , and the reason he thought it might work. _Spread thou that in through a large enough soul,_ he reasoned, _and it would be unseen to all but the most trained eye, unfelt to all but the most sensitive._ He resolved himself to discuss this with Y’shtola.

The four of them, Urianger, the Champion, Thancred, and Minfilia, returned to Lhyda Lran to discuss pursuing the Light Warden, who the pixies say is the King of the Fae, Titania, and learned from Sul Uin that they must collect various objects from the people of Il Mheg to unlock the gate to the castle wherein she is sealed. While the pixies happily hand over the enchanted dress, the other items must be sought from other peoples.

“Before we get to that,” Thancred interjects, looking between the other members of the group, “I think it best if we take a few days to rest. Our friend here has _just_ come from Holminster Switch not twelve hours ago, and some rest would likely do her some good.”

Urianger nodded. “Indeed, she must needs maintain her strength before facing yet another trial so soon.” He turned his attention to Alphinaud and Alisaie. “Mayhaps if thou wouldst remain with the pixies, they wouldst cause less mischief for the rest of us?”

Alisaie sighed, “You’re probably right. Come, brother, maybe they will at least let us get some rest, if only to fawn over how similar we look.”

Alphinaud sighed dramatically, and hung his head. “I _suppose_. What about the rest of you?”

Urianger turned to the woman beside him, and smiled affably. “I have a spare room, kept in readiness for guests, if it please thee?”

Minfilia spoke up, “But where will I-” only to be immediately interrupted by Thancred, who grabbed her arm.

“Minfilia and I have _other_ arrangements,” he said, looking meaningfully to the girl. She furrowed her brow in confusion, then opened her mouth in an ‘o’, before nodding in agreement.

Alisaie frowned. “Are you sure you don’t mind being alone with him?” she asked, turning to their mutual friend. “I am sure Alphinaud can distract the pixies just fine by himself if-”

“I can _not_ ,” Alphinaud argued. “The whole appeal is that we are twins!”

“I’ll be alright,” the Warrior of Light, now, perhaps, the Warrior of Darkness, replied to Alisaie, though the reassurance didn’t remove the latter’s frown. “Urianger will keep me safe,” she turned to look up at him, and smiled, “won’t you?”

“Of course, my lady,” Urianger said, and bowed, all seriousness.

Alisaie rolled her eyes. “It’s not about keeping you safe, it’s about-” She was cut off by a murderous glare from Thancred, and furrowed her brow in confusion, but let the matter go. “Very well. We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Or the day after, Lady Alisaie,” Urianger replied. “I wish to be sure that she hath rested herself as much as needed before we set her against another Light Warden.”

The twins sighed, and trudged off with the others, and Urianger turned back to his companion, and offered his arm. “Permit me to walk thee back, my lady?”

She laughed again, as she took it, a sound like chimes in an idle breeze.

* * *

Urianger awoke with a start, his throat raw, from screaming. He looked wildly about the room, attempting to focus when his door burst open, and the Warrior of Light rushed in, sword in hand.

“Are you well, Urianger?” she asked breathlessly. “I heard shouting.”

“Pray, forgive me, my lady,” he murmured sitting up in bed and rubbing his face. “I had no intent to disturb thy rest.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, leaning her sword against the wall. “I don’t care about the disturbed rest,” she said, crossing to him. “I care about _you_. Are you all right?” She tentatively reached out a hand, and touched his shoulder. Her fingers were calloused and cool, and he found himself gratified by the gesture of friendship.

“I am well, dear friend,” he said, reaching up with one hand and placing it on hers. His heart hammered in his chest, but she did not shy away. “I have been plagued by nightmares these last years.”

Her frown deepened, and the space between her eyebrows crinkled. “Nightmares?” She took a step closer, and brought her other hand up, brushing her hair out of her face. “What nightmares?”

Urianger bowed his head, acquiescing to the personal question. “I fear that I will fail thee when the time comes,” he said, and he was ashamed of the quiver in his voice. “I fear that despite bending myself body and soul to this task, when the hour is at hand, I will still-” He could feel the tears coming on, so he stopped speaking, and closed his eyes. “Forgive me.”

He could feel her shifting near him, and suddenly the bed dipped as she sat down on it, beside him. She took the hand clutched around hers and brought it to her lips, placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. His eyes snapped open, and he looked over at her. She smiled, softly.

“If anyone fails, it will be me. _I_ have taken this burden, and _I_ will see it through. And when it is done, _I_ will remain until _I’ve_ found a way to bring you home.”

She stood, then, and released his hand, though he could still feel the place where her lips had pressed as if someone had touched a live coal to the spot. “You should get some sleep, Urianger.”

He nodded mutely, and a moment later, she was gone. 

He tossed himself back onto the pillow, and held his hand before his face, so he could look at the place she had kissed him. Urianger reaffirmed to himself not to get his hopes up. It was a chaste, friendly kiss, given to him to bolster him through a moment of weakness, nothing more. Still, he knew that he would cling to it until the end of days, this shimmering moment a bulwark against the dark imaginings of his heart. If nothing else, he could not deny that she considered him a friend, and that was what he would content himself with, when she inevitably rejected his more formal advance.

* * *

The next morning, Urianger awoke to find her gone, but someone had set a roll, a handful of dried fruit, and a cup of chilled tea on his desk, the condensation dripping off the sides slightly smudging the words of the note she’d left.

> Eat. I’ll be back in a few hours after I’ve done some exploring.

He sighed and sat down, tearing the roll into small, bite-sized pieces and opening the book at the top of his stack. He’d intended to go back to reading about the various properties of the soul, but to his surprise found instead that he was reading a Voeburite romance novel. 

“Thought it might give you some _inspiration_ ,” Feo Ul said icily from a perch atop a nearby stack of books. “We made a bargain, Urianger.”

“And I harbor no intentions of going back upon my word to thee,” he replied drily, “but these things must be done properly.”

“I might be more patient, if you let me in on your plans…” Feo Ul said, flying dangerously close. “For at the moment it seems as if you’ll take your sweet _time_!” The pixie flicked the tip of his ear with one of her long nails.

Urianger hissed. “I have not yet found-”

The door opened, and she had returned, a handful of pixies bobbing in her wake. Feo Ul immediately lost interest in him, flitting back over to her ‘sapling’, and barking orders at the other pixies. His beloved made eye contact with him, and gave him a wry smile. 

Urianger stood, reflexively, and bowed. “My lady, I hope thou hast enjoyed seeing the sites of Il Mheg.”

“I did, but it seems everyone here needs help. I have found one problem, though, that you could help with?”

As he stood, eagerly, she came around his desk and showed him a book. The pixies tittered playfully as she showed him two images painted on the pages. “One of the pixies has developed a love for art, and asked if I could find the locations painted in this book for them.” 

Urianger leaned closer to get a better look at the book, and she so close to him that he caught a whiff of her hair, sandalwood and something floral. Keeping his focus on the images she was showing him suddenly became the most difficult task he had ever encountered, but he managed to soldier through, even though he knew he would be mocked endlessly by the pixies for this. “I believe I know where these images might be seen within this realm. Hast thou a map, my lady?” 

She pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded, and pulled out a folded paper with the various regions of Il Mheg sketched on it. He took a quill and dipped it in ink, marking two small dots on the map. “If thou has need of my help, thou know'st where I am.” He smiled again.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the pixies began laughing, sharp, high-pitched shrieks, while Urianger buried his face in his hands.

* * *

“She _wanted_ you to go _with_ her.” Thancred laughed, holding his sides. “Gods above, Urianger, she gave you an opening and you _marked_ her _map_.”

Urianger’s face was red. “I would not dare presume she intended anything. She seeth me as a dear friend, naught else.”

Thancred looked to Feo Ul, who giggled incessantly behind her hands, no help at all.

The object of their discussion returned, and all three of them attempted to pretend they had not been discussing anything of import to _her_.

“I’m just back for a moment!” she said, heading over to the sideboard. She pulled an old handkerchief from her pocket, and began piling it with nuts, berries, and a wedge of cheese from his stores. “Just let me know how much I owe you, okay, Urianger?” She said breezily.

“Please,” he said, raising a hand, “Aught I own is thine for the taking, if thou hast need of it.” He intended to end the sentence there, but saw Thancred and Feo Ul’s faces, looking at each other and barely suppressing more giggles, and decided to make a bold move. If he was going to be mocked regardless, he might as well get this madness over with. “I would have thee answer a question, if thou art willing?”

She tied up the bundle, and came over to him, smiling. “All right, Urianger, I’m game. I don’t know what I would know that you do not, but I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

Urianger chuckled. “It is merely a bit of idle curiosity about thee, my dear friend. I would know which color, of all, is thy favorite.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, turning her innocent smile into a cat-like smirk. _Little wonder she and that wretched pixie have made a pact,_ he thought, _they both act like they’re in on a joke that thou art not a part of._ She continued to stare at him, deep into his eyes, as though she might find the answer in him, rather than herself.

Just as the silence had stretched on long enough that Urianger was preparing to repeat the question, she replied. “Pale gold, like the yellow of a winter sun.” As soon as the words had left her mouth, she looked down, her hair obscuring her features. “I’ll be back,” she said to the room, and dashed out the door before Urianger could respond.

“Pale gold, passing strange…” he muttered, “not the response I would have expected…”

Thancred snorted. “I expected it.”

Feo Ul nodded her agreement. “This scholar’s an idiot.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Thancred said, pulling a flask from his jacket and taking a swig.

“Why dost thou feel I am an _idiot_?” Urianger asked, frowning. “I could not have predicted her favorite color.”

Thancred sighed. “You’re too busy focusing on your own feelings that you don’t see hers. Maybe you should take a good long look in the mirror.”

* * *

The six of them - Urianger, the Warrior of Darkness, Thancred, Minfilia, Alisaie and Alphinaud - had made plans to meet for a dinner picnic just outside Lydha Lran. Though Urianger did not like to bait the pixies with his presence, he knew the twins must be desperate for a break from being ‘entertainment’.

As they sat around the small clearing, the others who had preceded their dearest champion to the First regaled her with tales of their time there. Alisaie spoke of learning to fight the sin eaters, and the various classifications, while Alphinaud ranted about the frustrations he found trying to ingratiate himself to the population of Kholusia. Thancred and Minfilia tumbled over each other, talking about his daring rescue of her from Eulmore, and Urianger told of his weeklong riddle-trial with the pixies, to earn the right to live amongst them unbothered. 

Pixies stopped in amongst them for a time, playing small pranks and asking strange questions, but most seemed eager to share in the joy of friends reunited, and as the dinner came to a close, Urianger turned to his beloved, and sucked in a breath. 

“My Lady, I remembered what thou hast said, of thy favorite color, and I thought…” He held out a small bouquet - yellow hyacinths, tied about with a pale gold ribbon he had appropriated from one of his bookmarks.

She looked at him in confusion for a moment, and then her face broke into a dazzling smile, that in his heart outshone even the eternal light of the First. She took the bouquet from him gently, and looked down at it, still smiling, her delicate fingers tracing the very edges of the petals.

 _Flowers, publicly given,_ he thought. _Now, I just needs explain the significance, and-_

 _”What?”_ Alisaie yelled, her cheeks flushed with anger. “Urianger, you can’t _court_ her!”

“Court?” the champion asked, flowers still sitting in her lap, and she looked up in confusion.

Alphinaud laughed, “Come off it, Alisaie.” He turned his attention to the Warrior of Light. “She’s just been reading bawdy novels. There is an old Elezen courtship ritual, you give your intended flowers, and if she wears them, it means she wants you to court her.” He laughed again, turning his attention to his sister, who was growing redder by the second. “It’s not as though he meant anything like that by it, Alisaie, no one would care about ancient rituals anymore except -” The boy’s eyes suddenly shot open, and he looked around at the friends gathered for the picnic. Alisaie, on the verge of an outburst; Minfilia, nervous and confused; Thancred, grinning from ear to ear; the recipient of said flowers, looking down at the flowers in her lap, blushing; and Urianger himself. 

“Urianger?” Alphinaud asked, fixing his gaze upon the blushing scholar.

Urianger, for his part, coughed, and composed himself. “I thank thee for thy succinct explanation of my intentions.” He stood now, too nervous to remain. “We… must go and retrieve the Shell Crown from the Fuath tomorrow. I hope thou canst get plenty of rest.” 

As he raced, anxiously, back to the Bookman’s Shelves, he could hear Thancred yelling at the twins, but for once he could not bring himself to return and speak for them.

* * *

When Urianger awoke again, the timekeeping apparatus he had purchased at the Crystarium - a series of hourglasses and cogs that ran off ambient aether - informed him that it was morning. He was not sure if he had awoken with a nightmare, but he had a muddy memory of calloused hands stroking his cheek, and a gentle lullaby sung slightly off-key. He resolved that if he couldn’t remember for sure, he would not say anything. He had mortified himself more than enough the evening before at the picnic, and now it was time to leave.

He stepped outside to find Alisaie waiting for him, all anger and indignation.

“Urianger Augurelt!” she began, already on the attack, “You cannot _court_ her! What were you thinking? You’re trapped on the bloody _First_! Even if she wants it to, you _can’t_ be together! It’s _selfish_ of you to even -” 

She was cut off as Alphinaud stepped between them. “Alisaie, please, I know you’re angry, but it’s not -”

“Not what? Not any of my business? I should just turn a blind eye while he breaks her heart? She has to go back to the Source, with or without _us_! How can he expect to have anything _real_ with her, not like this, not without hurting her!”

“Alisaie!” Thancred barked. The girl turned to him, her cheeks still puffed and red. “You may not approve, but at the end of the day, it is not _your_ choice. What she and Urianger decide to do is between them. All we can do is offer our love and support, whatever happens.”

Alisaie rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I’m sorry, Urianger, I just…” 

After giving her a few moments to see if she’d finish the sentence, Urianger placed a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. “It is all right, Lady Alisaie, for thou hast done naught but give voice to the same doubts that have plagued me these last years. However, Thancred has the right of it. Just as it is not thy choice whether or not she and I shall traverse this road, neither is it my right to decide for her whether or not my current predicament is unacceptable. I have done all I can - expressed my sincere affection, and, with Master Alphinaud’s unexpected assistance, my intentions. At this point, it is for she to consider, and all of us to abide.”

The others nodded their agreement, then went about counting up supplies. They didn’t know what the Fuath might demand for the Crown, and so they thought it best to prepare for a longer journey.

Urianger was busy taking a second inventory of the books he’d decided to bring when he heard the door to the Bookman’s Shelves open behind him. He froze, for a moment, and looked to his companions faces out of the corner of his eye. Thancred’s face he couldn’t see, but Alisaie and Minfilia had placed their hands over their mouths. Alphinaud smiled, and gave a chipper, “Good Morning!”

Urianger steeled himself. Whatever the outcome, he was still her friend, and would be until his end. He could not falter, even if she did not wish to progress to the relationship he wished. Willing his legs to work, he stood, and turned to look at her. 

She had fitted herself in dark armor, with a dark sword strapped across her back, as was her want. It was unusually striking, however, as she wore a crown of cheerful yellow hyacinths, braided with a golden ribbon, stolen from a bookmark, in her hair.


	3. Il Mheg, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger and the Warrior of Light discuss the boundaries of their new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All! Sorry for the short chapter, but this felt like the right time to fit in the first bit of smut, so this is divided into two chapters. The second chapter (titled "Il Mheg(EX)") is the explicit stuff, so if you are not interested in reading that, feel free to skip over it.

Urianger found himself rooted to the spot, staring at her, while his own mind whirled in confusion. He had not actually believed, even for a moment, she might be open to his advances. His heart had become convinced that it would be broken this morning, so he had not considered, nor even planned, what to do if she accepted. However, here he was. He couldn’t even convince himself she was confused after Alphinaud’s explanation. He just stared as she gave him a nervous smile and came closer. The tips of her fingernails brushed against the center of his palm as she slipped her hand into his, and a slight shiver ran down his spine. He returned her nervous smile with one of his own.

“Right,” Alisaie said, frowning, “Shall we get going, then?” She turned on her heel, and began walking down the path. The rest of their merry band followed after her, leaving Urianger and his companion to walk to the Untouchable Gate together with a modicum of privacy. 

After a few moments, Urianger finally found himself able to speak. 

“Full glad I am that my gift hath found favor with thee,” he said, bringing his other hand to his face. It was growing hot, and he didn’t know what to say.

Her smile widened, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “So, what are the rules of this courtship, Urianger? I don’t want to do something wrong out of ignorance.” 

Urianger looked up for a moment, in thought. “Well, traditionally, once thou hast accepted my intentions, we wouldst spend time together, in hopes that we might determine whether we are suited.”

“Are there specific activities we’re supposed to do?” She released his hand, slipping her arm into his as they began to meander down the path at a snail’s pace.

“Some,” he said, rifling through his memory, “though they are most certainly not required, nor art thou expected to complete them in any specific order. One wouldst take their beloved to a religious rite, a festival, and a masquerade. These are parts of the Elezen calendar of eld, and were merely so selected to ensure the happy couple wouldst find themselves taking an appropriate amount of time to court, rather than jumping into marriage in less than the passing of a single moon.”

She nodded. “I don’t know when any of those are going to happen soon, so… what ideas do you have?”

He pursed his lips for a moment, then asked, “Perhaps thou wouldst like a small exchange? I will ask thee a question, and thou must answer honestly. After, thou mayst ask of me a question, and I must likewise respond with candor.” He looked down at her, and tilted up his eyebrow.

“All right,” His beloved rewarded him with another smile. “You start.”  
Urianger pondered what he would ask for a moment, then decided that being forthright here would have its rewards. With a nervous breath, he asked, “Why art thou willing to be courted by me?”

“Because I’ve been in love with you for years,” she replied, nonchalantly.

“W-What?” He stammered. “Thou hast been in love- but, my lady, why didst thou not give voice to this?”

“It’s not your turn to ask a question.” His beloved stuck her tongue out at him, playfully, “Why did you choose Il Mheg?”

He chuckled and thought back, saying, “It was one of the few places where I could be sure that I wouldst be left alone to my work. While the fair folk can be bothersome when they choose, a bargain, once made, is kept. Thus, a bargain wherein I obtained safe residence was enacted.” She gave a slight nod in understanding, so he continued with his question. “Why didst thou not give voice to thy feelings, if thou art in love with me?”

She became quiet for a time, and he began to worry if he had made her second guess him, until she finally answered, “Moenbryda.”

He swallowed nervously and looked down, while she continued. “She was my friend. It was obvious you two were in love, and I…” she trailed off for a moment. After taking a deep breath, she continued, “After her death, you were in mourning, and I didn’t want to take advantage. I never knew if you two were… if you had _courted_ her like this, or if neither of you’d said anything yet. There was so much I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to get in between the two of you, but then she died, and I didn’t want to interfere with your grief, and then…” Her voice wavered, and she took another breath. “Then it was one thing after another. There was never time. Since you never expressed interest, I felt it best to let those feelings die, quietly.”

After a few moments, he stopped, and swallowed nervously. “I thank thee. Thou wert right, I had great need of time to grieve, then. And I would have taken any attempts, even unto my departure from the Source, as importuning, even if that were not thy intent. ‘Twas only when I found myself on these distant shores that I had time to reexamine mine own heart, and therein I found a deep and abiding love for thee.” She blushed, but said nothing, so he continued, “It is thy turn, “for a question, if thou wouldst continue.”

She nodded, the hyacinths in her hair rustling with the motion, then tapped her chin. The only warning Urianger received, before the unexpected question, was a flash of a cheeky grin out of the corner of her mouth. 

“Urianger,” she asked, her voice pitched to feigned sweetness and innocence. “Are you a virgin?”

Choking on air for a moment, Urianger rubbed his free hand over his face. “W-what?”

“Are you a virgin?” She giggled, and placed her free hand on her chest dramatically. “Hast thou experienced intimate intercourse before?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, and laughed. Given the direction he was hoping their relationship would take, it was an answer to which she was entitled. “Forgive me, beloved, I had not expected the question. But no, I am not. When I was a youth beginning my studies, I thought to make a scholarly work on the subject, based on _first-hand_ research.” She laughed, and he continued. “As for Moenbryda and I, while we were both aware of the other’s ardor, it was never the ‘right time’ as they say. Then she was gone from me,” he said, and swallowed nervously, “and I thought that was the end of love within my lifetime.”

After another long pause, he asked, “What of thee, my lady?” He grinned, quoting her impression of him, “ _Hast thou experienced intimate intercourse before_?”

“No,” she said, and he found himself surprised at her answer. “Before Hydaelyn’s blessing, I was young, and hadn’t really met anyone yet. Afterward, well… there wasn’t anyone, then there was you, but, as you said, it was never the ‘right time’.” She looked up at the bright sky. “What are the rules regarding said intimacy, in courtship?”

Urianger started walking again, their hands still intertwined. “Traditionally, we would not be _intimate_ during the courtship. No value is placed on virginity, but it is believed that denying oneself for a time wouldst make the shared intimacy more emotionally poignant. That being said, I have no particular reverence for Elezen courtship in and of itself. I merely wished a clear way to express my sincerity to thee. If thou wouldst abandon it, I will happily find a method that thou wouldst find more pleasing. My ultimate goal, of course, being that I will be endeared enough to thee that thou wilt grant me thy hand.” He lifted their clutched hands to his lips, and brushed them over her knuckles, in the same way she had brushed her lips over his her first night here. “What wouldst thou prefer?”

She chewed her lip for a moment in thought. “I would like to take it slow, for now, but I reserve the right to change my mind.” She grinned again, wickedly, “What types of intimacy _are_ permitted by the courtship rituals?”

Urianger laughed, then clicked his tongue in mock approbation. “Attempt thee to bend the rules thou hast just asked to have followed? In truth, for the Elezen, marriage is primarily for the rearing of children.” Her eyes widened, and he immediately shook his head, “N-not that I am prepared for such an eventuality at this time. Nor am I against it, I merely believe that we must needs face the road before us, then might we contemplate such happy things.” He stopped stammering, and exhaled slowly. “Elezen generally do not wed until they are seeking a partner with whom to raise their children, hence the lack of concern over trivial matters like virginity. There is a sharp divide betwixt the two types of relationships one might pursue. The one I seek with thee is the more permanent of the arrangements. So, to answer thy question, the only types of intimacy forbidden are those generally recognized to result in the quickening of thy womb.” He glanced ahead, and saw the others were at the Untouchable Gate. “Art thou prepared to deal with the Fuath?”

She nodded, gripping his hand tightly for a moment, then looked up at him, and smiled. “Keep me safe, Urianger?”

He gave her a mock bow, and kissed her hand again before releasing it. “I will protect thee.”

* * *

Urianger Augurelt had decided: Dohn Mheg was exhausting. He had spent years honing his body as much as his mind, mostly in the belief that when the time came he would now be able to protect her, but he was once again at a loss when seeing her move. Most who threw themselves into the thick of a melee did so like a turtle, shields and shells keeping them safe. The object of his affections, however, moved like it was a dance. She threw herself across the battlefield, sword in hand, pirouetting past threats that would have made him pause, and leaving naught but corpses in her wake. He was reminded, again, of her great and terrible destiny - to die defending the Source. He would prevent it. He had no greater purpose.

He had also taken the time to learn the Astrologian’s Art, and was surprised at how well it worked with her own style. She always stayed just within eyesight, so that he could still manage the aetheric variables without difficulty, and this vantage of the field allowed him to call down the fury of the stars to shield her from blows she simply could not see.

Their companions fought alongside them, to great effect, and soon they found themselves having defeated Aenc Thon. The leader of the Fuath returned to his smaller form, and the eyes of the rest of them glowed from the water that surrounded the room.

“Bah, you do not hold back!” Aenc Thon said, mirth rising in his voice. “But I would have it no other way! Seldom have I enjoyed such sport!”

Urianger nodded. “We have satisfied thy demands. Wilt thou now satisfy ours?”

“Of course! Of course…” Aenc Thon said, pointing toward the back of the room. “There it is, the relic you seek! Yours for the taking. Have care you do not break it, though, yes?”

As Alisaie and Alphinaud approached to take the crown, Urianger noticed Aenc Thon still stared at the Warrior of Light. Just when Urianger was about to say something, the small frog spoke.

“Ah, but you, my friend… you are mighty indeed… and pleasing to the eye besides!”

The Fuath from the waters began to call out.

“More! I want to see more of her!”

“Yes, yes! I could watch her forever!”

“Why don’t we just make her one of us?”

“Yes! One of us!”

Soon they were all chanting variations on ‘One of Us’ with no reason or rhyme. Urianger, sensing danger, drew his astrolabe again.

Aenc Thon laughed. “Wahaha! What a fine idea! Why ever didn’t I think of that!? You may have the crown… but in exchange, we will have _you_!”

Without warning, water shot up from the edges of the room, and ripped them all away.

Urianger came to a moment later, on the shore of the lake. He sat up, and rubbed his face for a moment, then put his hand down to leverage himself up. To his surprise, it touched something soft, and he looked down to find his dearest’s crown of hyacinths, floating on the gentle waves. 

He stood, taking the flower crown into his hands, and looking about for her. After a moment, he counted his compatriots, then counted again.

“Where hath she gone?” He asked, looking about wildly, as his heart began to hammer in his chest. His breathing became ragged, and panic began to twist its way through his mind. Despite his inability to swim, he immediately made for the water. He had to find her. He could not fail. Not now. Not _again_.

“Urianger!” Alisaie called, running up to him. “Urianger, wait!”

“I must find her,” he said sharply. “Forgive me, Lady Alisaie, but I must-”

“Urianger, she can breathe,” Alisaie panted. “Breathe water, I mean. The Kojin, from the Ruby Sea, taught us.”

He felt his heart begin to calm. “Then I beg thee, Lady Alisaie, go and find her.”

Alisaie nodded, and dove into the water.

* * *

By the time Alisaie returned, Urianger had calmed himself significantly. Alphinaud had explained multiple times that his beloved was, in fact, an agile swimmer, and could breathe water besides.

It was his friends’ recent reassurances that allowed him to put his panic aside and tend to Alisaie when she returned, breathless, from the deep. 

“I’m,” Alisaie huffed, “I’m going back in.”

Urianger shook his head. “Nay, my lady. Exhausted as thou art, thou wouldst only endanger thyself. I prithee, rest a moment.”

The others returned from their surveys of the coastline.

“There was nothing where we looked,” Thancred said, concern beginning to edge his voice. Just as Urianger felt himself beginning to panic again, Thancred called out her name, and Urianger looked back towards the shore.

His beloved was there, walking toward him, twisting her armor this way and that to get the water out. When she looked up, the two of them made eye contact, and she gave him a small smile and waved. She came closer, and told the group of them about waking up deep beneath the surface.

“Dear gods…” Alphinaud said, “Were it not for Soroban’s blessing…” The boy noticed Urianger’s hands shaking around the small ring of flowers. “... but I need not labor the point. I am glad to see you safe and well, my friend.”

Alisaie scowled. “Have you any idea how worried we were!? To wash up on the shore, only to find you weren’t with us? Oh, but I’m forgetting -” She held out the Shell Crown toward her. “Here’s your crown, Your Majesty! The Fuath kept that part of the bargain, at least!”

His beloved took the crown from Alisaie, and turned her attention to Thancred. 

“While there were certain twists and turns,” Thancred said, eyeing the back of Alisaie’s head, “our work here is done, with everyone none the worse for wetness.”

While they stood there, talking a moment, Sul Uin, the pixie, flew over. “Oh! Thank goodness you’re still here!”

Alphinaud raised an eyebrow. “Sul Uin! Is something amiss?”

“A great big mob of mortals is marching to Il Mheg!” the pixie cried. “Mortals with ugly weapons and uglier faces! They wouldn’t happen to be your friends, would they?”

Thancred chuckled. “Rather the reverse, I fear. The Eulmoran Army, at a guess.”

Sul Uin smiled. “Meaning… we can play with them?”

“As much as you like,” Alphinaud said. “But just to be sure, I will return with you to confirm their identities. If they are who we suspect, we will require your aid.”

“If Alphinaud is coming, then Alisaie will be too, yes?” Sul Uin did a little joyous spin in the air. “Can’t have one without the other, you know!”

Alisaie sighed. “All right. Just remember, _we’re_ not your playmates this time.”

Alphinaud turned to the Warrior of Darkness. “I’m afraid we must leave the rest of the relic hunt in your hands.”

She smiled back at the boy, and gave him a playful wink. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this sort of thing before.”

Alphinaud chuckled. “Indeed you have! Very well, then. See you afterwards, my friend!”

The twins headed off, and she turned to him, a soft smile on her face. “You have something of mine, unless I’m mistaken.”

Urianger looked down at the flower crown in his hands. “I failed to keep thee safe.”

She rolled her eyes. “That? That was nothing, dear. You could not have known they were going to alter the bargain at the last moment. I can save myself, to some degree.” She teased him softly, but then her face fell. “Unless… you don’t want…” She trailed off, and looked away. 

He came closer to her, and gently placed the flower crown back on her head, then carefully peeled a lock of hair that had plastered itself to the side of her face away, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes met his, and he continued the motion of his hand, letting the tips of his fingers trace along the shell of her ear, then along the edge of her jaw, pressing just lightly against the underside of her chin.

She lifted her head in response, and he leaned down to kiss her. She smelled of petrichor - that mossy blend of earth and water most commonly found after rain - and the same sandalwood he had noted earlier. He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, and he could feel the muscles of her face twist beneath his kiss into a smile. 

So emboldened, Urianger moved his mouth more fully over hers, and flicked just the tip of his tongue over lips, and was gratified to find her mouth open to his exploration on his second pass. He closed his eyes, and let his hand slip from her chin to around the back of her neck, his long fingers getting lost in her hair, completely ignoring the lake water which made it unusually heavy.

His beloved reached for him, and he felt her lean against his chest. His heart began to beat with wild abandon, and he deepened the kiss, his other hand slipping around her waist to seek the latches on her -

Thancred coughed, loudly, interrupting the pair. They disengaged from each other, sheepishly, and Minfilia giggled behind her hand while politely averting her eyes.

Urianger coughed. “With our enemies fast approaching, time is of the essence. We must needs accomplish our mission with all possible haste. Of the two remaining bearers of the relics, the Nu Mou are the nearer. We shall seek them out next. Among the fae folk, they bear the distinction of having abided in these lands since before the Flood. They are also the friendliest to men, and have served me faithfully whensoever I have called upon them. Indeed, they are the source of much of the knowledge I have acquired in my time here.” He held out his arm to his still-dripping paramour. “The path leadeth past my dwellings. Let us away.”

She took his arm, and Thancred and Minfilia took off ahead. As they walked, he allowed himself to ramble about the Nu Mou and Pla Enni, their home. She listened intently, and he found that he actually enjoyed being listened to, compared to his usual lectures that were slept through or ignored.

As they continued through the flower fields, he grew quiet for a moment, then said, “I am sorry I could not protect thee, my dearest one.”

She shook her head. “I am the Warrior of Darkness, Urianger, and the Warrior of Light. Maybe _I_ should be protecting _you_.”

He scowled. “Thou shouldst not _have_ to be.”

After a few minutes, he exhaled and decided to take a moment to clarify. “I am quite proud of thee, and thy labors as our most beloved champion, but I wish thou couldst live in a world where the fate of the star did not rest on thy shoulders. Thou art the Warrior of Light, bearer of Hydaelyn’s blessing - and I can think of none more deserving - but that is not why I adore thee. The blessing didst not give thee thy kindness, thy selflessness, nor thy enduring patience. I am aware that the world tends to see thee as a canon, to be pointed towards whatever great enemy threatens, but… thou deservest more than that.”

They walked a few moments in silence, and Urianger let his mind wander back to their earlier kiss. He smiled dreamily to himself, thinking on how soft her lips were, and how responsive she had been to his every touch. He began to fantasize about how responsive she might be in other arenas, when he realized his mind was wandering quickly into dangerous territory, and pulled himself back from the brink. He glanced over at her, and found her smiling wickedly, her cheeks slightly pink.

“Dearest,” he asked, turning toward her.

She looked up, and he noted with slight amusement that her forehead turned pink as well as her cheeks. He realized she might be one of those people who blushed along their entire body, not just their face, and he immediately had to redirect his mind to the task at hand. 

“Yes, Urianger?” She asked.

“I wouldst kiss thee, again, if thou art willing? We are not like to be interrupted by anyone.”

She grinned, and nodded eagerly, her arms already looping about his shoulders as he placed his hands on her waist and pulled her close. Just before their lips would meet, he lifted her slightly, and dipped his head a bit lower, placing his mouth on the tender spot where her pulse fluttered within her neck. He was instantly rewarded, hearing her gasp sharply, and even more so when she whimpered, “Urianger…” so delicately that her breath tickled the tip of his ear.

He opened his mouth slightly, and let his teeth scrape gently against her skin, the tip of his tongue fluttering over her hammering heartbeat. Urianger let himself imagine taking her here in this field, pulling his name from her lips a thousand times over before continuing on. But she had asked to wait, so he pulled away from her, planting a chaste kiss on her lips before stepping away.

Wordlessly (for his face was a burning coal and he feared he might let out little more than a croak should he try to speak), Urianger offered her his arm, and she took it, a mischievous smile on her lips.

* * *

Once they had been welcomed by the Nu Mou of Pla Enni, his beloved champion ran off to assist the Nu Mou and explore. Meanwhile, Urianger found himself caught up in conversation with one of the Nu Mou elders, Tyr Nee.

“Who is that girl you brought in with you, Urianger? Her aura is strange.” Tyr Nee asked, while the two of them were examining a basket of mushrooms that had just been collected.

“She is a dear friend,” he replied, setting another mushroom into the basket used for those mushrooms safe to eat.

“You do not look at her like a friend, Urianger,” Tyr Nee chuckled. 

He laughed. “Thou hast a point. She is the woman I am courting.” 

Tyr Nee nodded in approval. “How lovely. It is good that you wish to settle down, Urianger. Have you given her a gift? We Nu Mou exchange gifts.”

“Aye,” Urianger replied, his cheeks turning pink. “The flowers, worn upon her head as a crown.”

The old Nu Mou nodded again. “You know that we will not have an answer for you before morning at the earliest, yes?”

“Thinkst thou it shall take that long?” He asked, tilting his head. 

“Oh aye,” Tyr Nee said, thumping his tail against the ground. “We can find places for your friends to stay, if you wish to take her back to the Shelves for an evening alone.” The old Nu Mou’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and Urianger blushed a deep, painful red. 

“Aah,” he said. “Whilst full glad I am of thy consideration, the Eulmoran army hath already crossed into Il Mheg - it wouldst be careless for us to abandon our journey so soon…”

Tyr Nee coughed, and pointed behind Urianger. He turned to find Feo Ul glowering at him. “We pixies have the army well. in. hand. And she’s still soaked from that little adventure with the Fuath. Take her home and get her a bath, and something to eat.”

Urianger opened his mouth to argue, but Feo Ul kicked him in the arm like an angry child. “Do you want her to face the King unprepared? She should be getting as much rest as possible so she’ll have the best chance of success.”

Urianger bowed his head, as if acquiescing, even though all present knew he preferred this turn of events. He expected more of a protest from Thancred, but as soon as he suggested taking the Warrior of Light back to Bookman’s Shelves to rest, Thancred began grinning like the rapscallion he was. “Don’t forget that trick I told you about, all right? It never fails.”

Blushing, Urianger scuttled away to collect his sweetheart, anything to not think about Thancred’s trick.

* * *

Urianger glanced up from his book as his dearest descended the stairs after her bath. He was surprised to see she wore a soft silken nightgown that left little to the imagination. While the view was _tantalizing_ , what he found more interesting was how _unguarded_ she was. She wore no armor or robes, just her nightgown, and her wet hair was caught in a long, thin, braid that followed the curve of her spine. She made little noise as she padded about the room, slipping over to the sideboard he kept, and puttered about finding dinner. 

Unexpectedly, she turned to him. “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head. “No, my lady, I was waiting for thee. I am happy to prepare something for thee, if thou art hungry.”

She nodded. “You cook, I’ll make tea?”

Urianger set his book aside and stood, joining her at the little sideboard kitchenette he had. She placed a full kettle on the heating circle, and began rummaging in other cabinets for tea leaves while he chopped vegetables. She joined him at his desk just as he was setting down two bowls of white bean soup, holding out a cup of strong black tea.

They had dinner together, sitting on his desk, and laughed about how troublesome the fae could be. She told him about Raubahn being the new leader of Ala Mhigo, and her time in Doma, while he regaled her with obscure history facts from both nations. They shared a few kisses - soft, fleeting moments of bliss, and then the woman before him yawned widely, one hand over her mouth. 

“Thou hast need of thy rest, dearest one. Shall I escort thee to thy chamber door?” Urianger asked, smiling. 

She hopped down from the desk, and offered her own arm. “Alright, Urianger.”

He smiled wickedly, then, rather than take her arm in his, swept his arm behind her knees, and lifted her like a princess to carry her upstairs. She giggled, and leaned her head against his shoulder, pressing her forehead into the curve of his neck. Just outside her door, he set her down, and reached out, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek.

“Good night, beloved,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well, Urianger…” she replied, and vanished into her room.

Urianger pressed his face into his hands. After the day he’d had, there was little chance of that.


	4. Il Mheg (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger has another nightmare, and the WOL provides some unexpected comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an EXPLICIT chapter. If you are not here for smut do not read on.
> 
> I decided to use French terms of endearment to expand the repertoire of ways Urianger might refer to the Warrior of Light. Let me know if you find it too off putting!

Urianger stood on the banks of Longmirror Lake, looking for something, but he couldn’t remember what. He paced, anxiously, twisting the flower crown in his hands as he tried to recall, but his mind could not seem to focus.

As he looked out over the lake, a dark shape moved toward him, slowly, born on the gentle waves that lapped against his feet. He furrowed his brow, trying to get a better look at it, but it was still inscrutable to him until Moenbryda stood beside him, and said, “I told you, you would fail.” The figure finally came to shore, and it was the lifeless body of the Warrior of Light.

* * *

A sharp gasp escaped Urianger as he wrenched himself to wakefulness after the nightmare, sitting up in his bed in the Bookman’s Shelves. He ran a hand through his hair, and nearly jumped out of his skin to find the Warrior of Light standing by his bedside, a cup of tea in her hand. 

“My Lady!” he said, then swallowed. “Forgive me, I did not expect to see thee there.” 

“I brought tea,” she said, and held out the cup towards him.

He took it, gladly, and raised it gently towards her, before taking a sip. It was chamomile, and he found himself soothed just at the taste of it. “My thanks,” he said, and held the cup with both hands, letting the warmth seep into his bones. 

She reached out, then, and brushed the hair from his face. “Was it bad?”

Urianger chuckled softly. “Neither better nor worse than the others that have plagued me, I fear. Thy death, again, though this time ‘twas in the lake, from earlier today.”

She glanced behind herself, to his open bedroom door, and he watched as she seemed to come to some decision, then returned her gaze to him. “Would you like me to stay with you, for a bit?”

He wanted to say yes. He desperately wanted to say yes. But at the moment he was busy regretting his decision to sleep nude. “I wouldst… I mean… that is to say…” He gestured feebly towards the sheet and quilt covering him from the waist down. “I tend to sleep… _unencumbered_. Though I would welcome thy presence, I do not wish to inadvertently offend.”

She smiled and sat beside him on the bed, on top of the sheet and blanket. “I trust you not to hurt me, or do anything I am not ready for. Do you trust me?”

“Most literally,” he replied, “with my life.” He finished his tea in a single gulp, and set the empty cup on his windowsill, then looked over at her. She was toying with the end of her braid, held fast by a small strip of black fabric, and looking at him nervously from under her eyelashes. He reminded himself that she had not been intimate with anyone, and given her description of the reasons why, it was unlikely she’d even made the attempt. A wry smile twisted his lips when he realized what was happening. She was the most courageous person he knew, who regularly threw herself before the most fearsome foes in creation without hesitation, but she quailed here, when she found herself alone with the one she desired. If aught was going to happen beyond awkward silence, Urianger realized it would have to be by his will, at least for now.

He reached out his hand, and placed it gently on her hands where they held her braid. “May I?”

She nodded, and he plucked the braid from her grasp, carefully untying the ribbon that held it. With slow and deliberate movements, he unthreaded her braid - first, just running a finger through every few stitches, but soon he was running his hands through it regularly, keeping her locks free of tangles as he worked his way towards her scalp. At the end, he slipped his long fingers along her scalp, and rubbed it gently, before letting his fingers slide all the way to the ends.

His beloved looked back up at him, then, and before she could say a word he leaned down and kissed her, sliding one hand into her hair at her scalp, the other brushing lightly over her bare shoulder. He explored with his tongue, memorizing the taste and shape of her mouth, only releasing her when his body called for air. “I must beg thy forgiveness,” he stammered. “I found myself-”

She did not wait for him to finish, but instead, to his surprise, she placed her hand in the center of his chest and pushed him back, so that he was lying down again. Though shorter than he, she quickly found a comfortable position, lying her head on his shoulder with one of his arms wrapped about her, her face tilted up towards his. While one of her arms was pinned beneath her, she didn’t seem to mind, and she drew lazy circles over his chest with the tip of her finger while he kissed her languidly.

After a few moments of cuddling her close, he brought his other arm around and brushed it down the side of her body possessively, enjoying the heat of her skin through the thin silk of her nightgown. After his third pass, he brought his fingertips down the front of her body instead, and was rewarded with a quiet gasp when his fingers stumbled over the hard kernel of her nipple straining against the fabric. He let his fingers linger there, a time, stroking her breast and rubbing her nipple gently through the fabric, enjoying the way her face flushed every time she caught herself leaning into his grasp.

Urianger used the arm beneath her to pull her closer, then murmured into her ear, “May I?” She dug her fingernails into his chest, but nodded, and her hand relaxed again as he moved his fingers from her breast to the thin strap that held her nightgown over her shoulder. He tugged it down along her arm, and the little silk triangle covering her breast folded over, exposing her nipple to the chill air, and gratifying him to learn that he was correct, she _was_ one of those people who blushed over her whole body. 

He carefully pulled his arm out from under her and pushed her onto her back, then leaned over and kissed the side of her neck, leaving a trail of slow, deliberate kisses along her collarbone as he headed for her breast.

Sadly, in his eagerness to explore her, he hadn’t paid enough attention to the little swirls she traced over his skin, and they way they’d moved from his shoulders, to his chest, to his stomach. It was only as he pulled her nipple into his mouth that she slipped her hand beneath the sheet, letting her fingers brush gently along the length of his shaft. Urianger hissed reflexively, and she immediately pulled her hand back. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I thought…”

“No, my lady,” Urianger planted a few gentle kisses on the swell of her breast. “I am more than willing to have thee continue. Thy most _welcome_ touch was merely unexpected.”

She nodded, silently, then slid her hand back beneath the sheet, her fingers moving over him in extremely deliberate motions, as if trying to decide what to do. He tried to focus on her breast, he really did, but every brush of her fingers seemed to drain more and more of his reason away, until he was little more than a desperate fool, his face buried in her breasts while she stroked him. He only looked up when she stopped, and pulled her hand out to look at it.

“Aah, yes, forgive me, my lady, I should have explained…” He didn’t realize how poor her sexual education had been, and was prepared to launch into an explanation, when she suddenly shifted her gaze from her hand to meet his.

“It’s pre-cum. I know.” She grinned wickedly, and licked the tiny smear of fluid from her hand.

Urianger stared unabashedly at her, his face hot. That had been, quite possibly, the most intensely erotic thing he had ever seen someone do, and he didn’t even have the mental faculties to explain why at the moment. He felt his cock straining against his skin, and he longed to bury himself inside her and find his release. However, she had said she wanted to take it slow, and so they would, but he decided that tomorrow they would have a very thorough discussion of what slow _meant_. 

She pulled her fingers away from her mouth and wrapped them around his shaft, pushing the sheet aside so that she would be unencumbered as she stroked him, slowly, barely touching him. “Urianger?” She queried, her voice having taken on a sing-song quality. “I can tell you want more, but I’m worried if I grasp any tighter, or move any faster, it might chafe. Do you have…?”

He pulled the hand that had been playing with her breast away, and knocked over a few things on the windowsill before he came across a small pot. Though the salve inside was intended to ease dry skin, he had used it before for similar purposes, and knew it would suffice. She cooed thanks into his ear and pulled her hand away from his member, flipping open the pot with one hand, then scooping a liberal amount of salve onto her fingers before taking hold of him again.

Her movements became much more assured, and he twisted his hand into the sheet near the salve pot as heat began to build within him. He felt his hips move in time with her strokes, and she chuckled softly. “Why Urianger,” she teased, “I might almost think you want me.”

“Thou,” he breathed out, trying to force his mind to focus. “Thou art a vile and wicked temptress, beloved. There will be…” He lost his words for a moment as a shudder passed through his body. “Gods, dearest, I am close.” 

“Good,” she replied, pressing her lips against his neck. He turned to face her, gasping as her hand slid all the way down to his hilt as he did so, before she resumed her steady rhythm. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder and clutched her in his arms, giving himself over to the pleasure building beneath her unrelenting strokes.

When he finally found his climax, Urianger buried his face in her skin, desperate to avoid crying out and startling her. Her hands continued gliding, without cease, until she had pulled all that would come from him. 

He was still collecting himself, bleary eyed, when she kissed his cheek. “I’m going to clean up, all right?” 

Urianger watched as she climbed out of bed and washed her hands and forearms with the enchanted pitcher and washbasin. He realized, when she went for the third scrub, that she wasn’t sure what to do, or where to go from here, so he climbed out of bed. No point in hiding himself beneath covers now that she had given lie to the cool and collected exterior he attempted to present. 

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her cheek before making eye contact with her in the mirror. “That was incredible, beloved. Better than even my most fanciful imaginings.” He grinned, making sure she saw it, and she blushed reflexively. The pink deepened to a violent red when he murmured in her ear. “I should like to return the favor, my dearest, if thou art willing?”

After a few moments, she nodded mutely, but he still laughed, emboldened by her turning red from head to toe. “First, let us get thee out of this nightgown,” he whispered into her skin as he now pulled the other strap down, and let the nightgown fall, puddling quietly into a pool at her feet. His hands returned to her shoulders, but he took a moment to let his eyes rake over her form before nudging her gently towards the bed. “Find thyself a comfortable position, and leave the rest in my capable hands.”

She giggled, and grabbed her hair, laying it on the pillow to avoid it getting caught beneath her back, before she wriggled herself into a comfortable place in the center of the bed. Her eyes kept darting to him nervously, so he stretched out beside her on the bed. 

“Dost thou trust me, beloved?” he asked, brushing his fingers back and forth over her abdomen.

“Yes,” She replied, almost as if she were convincing herself. “I trust you, Urianger.”

Urianger nodded, once, in understanding, then lowered his mouth to one of her breasts, while one of his hands cupped the other. She shivered and arched her back, but he continued on, sucking gently on one nipple while flicking his thumb lightly over the other. Her mouth opened, emiting a low moan, and he grinned against her skin.

He pushed himself up so that he was leaning over her, and gently pressed his knee between hers. She opened her legs, but he could see anxiety welling in her eyes. “Worry not, _moitié_ ,” Urianger said, slipping into his native tongue for a moment. “I am merely seeking better access to thy body so that I might bring thee to thy pleasure. It is too soon after mine own for me to do aught else, besides.”

She relaxed at that, and let her legs fall open, and he knelt between them, then leaned forward, bracing himself over her with his left hand, before taking up one of her breasts again in his right. He remained like that for a time, drinking in the little changes to her expression with every new thing he tried - cataloguing what she liked, what she didn’t, what made her gasp, and what made her moan - as his right hand explored her face, shoulders, breasts and belly in patient research. Urianger knew that he was gifted with a keen and analytical mind, and he would consider it shameful if he did not apply it with equal fervor to pleasing his partner as he did to his work.

“Urianger,” she whimpered, and he glanced back up at her face to see she had started to become frustrated. _Good_ , he thought, _then mayhaps…_ His fingers slipped further down, to the tangle of hair betwixt her legs, and he was pleased to find her slick and ready for him.

With agonizing slowness, he pressed apart her labia and slid one finger into her sex. He was gratified to hear her soft whimper become louder, and she twisted her hips, instinctively trying to ride his finger, but he slipped a second inside her, then rubbed the front wall of her passage while his thumb pressed up against her clitoris. Her legs wrapped around him, trying to pull him closer, and it took all his strength to stay back. Urianger knew without a shadow of a doubt, that had he not had his pleasure earlier, he would not have been able to resist such a clear invitation to bury himself in her.

He quickly bent himself to studying her responses again. He learned she liked it when he moved his fingers inside her - it would produce a frenzied twisting of her hips that he, frankly, could not wait to feel wrapped around his member - and that she preferred he did not rub her clitoris directly, but instead moved his thumb around it in small circles. As she became more frantic, he could slide his thumb closer to it. He also found that she enjoyed having his mouth on her nipple while he worked on her and he tried a number of angles to find which would be the most comfortable and still elicit the gasps he’d come to think of as water in the desert of his loneliness. Gods forgive him, but he could not wait to drown.

“Urianger…” she breathed out his name, slowly. He could tell that she was trying to form a sentence, so he slowed his hand for a moment to let her focus. She gulped down air. “Urianger, forget…” Her chest shuddered with delight as he planted a gentle kiss on her collarbone. “Forget what I said about waiting. I want you inside me, Urianger.”

He chuckled and placed a kiss on her earlobe, then murmured, “As delighted as I wouldst be to oblige thee, dearest, I know thy wits are addled at the moment. I will not indulge that particular desire of thine until thou canst ask me when thou art _not_ already writhing beneath me, but are in fact in possession of all thy faculties.”

He picked up speed again, and when he found he could not resist a moment longer, he pressed his thumb up against her clitoris. She shrieked his name, and her legs pinned him to her more tightly than any manacles. He continued rubbing her, both inside and out, until the tension bled out of her muscles and she unwrapped her legs from him. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, still lost in the afterglow, “did I hurt you?”

Urianger laughed and flopped onto the bed beside her, then pulled her into his arms. “Not at all, _minette_ ,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I am more durable than thou realize.”

“What does that mean?” She asked. “ _Minette_? And earlier you called me _moitié_.” 

He blushed. “They are Elezen terms of endearment. ‘ _Moitié_ ’ meaneth ‘my other half’, and ‘ _minette_ ’, ‘kitten’. Pray, forgive me, I find myself slipping into the tongue of my youth when I am distracted. If it offends thee, please tell me.”

“It doesn’t,” she said, yawning, “They sound like better alternatives to ‘that person I’m courting’, and ‘that guy I have been obsessing over for far too long.'” 

He laughed, “Thou obsesseth over me. How interesting. I shall have to -” A small sound interrupted him, and he looked down to find her fast asleep in his arms, snoring softly. Urianger chuckled to himself, and grabbed the edge of the quilt, pulling it up around the both of them.


	5. Il Mheg, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger receives a vital lesson from Seto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, it's been a busy week at work and I wanted to get Il Mheg wrapped up so I could move on to Rak'tika. I hope you guys like it! :D

The scent of sandalwood pulled Urianger gently from his dreams, and he cracked open one eye in momentary confusion. For a moment, he didn’t understand why the Warrior of Light was in his bed, but then the tumultuous events of the last day and a half came flooding back, and he chuckled to himself while he kissed the top of her head.

“Mmm, What time is it?” she mumbled, burying her face in his shoulder. Her hair was tangled from a night unbound, and he tried to feel guilty about it, but the memory of how it felt, slipping through his fingers while he kissed her, made that near impossible.

He glanced over at his aetheric contraption, then brushed a few locks of hair out of her face before running his hand down her back. “It is still quite early, dearest. Naught would be amiss if thou chose to sleep a bit longer.”

She grumbled again, but shook her head. “No… I’ve got to get up. The Eulmorans…” 

His eyes shot open in shock. He was still so drunk on his delight with her he’d completely forgotten the Eulmoran was _most literally_ at the gates. He frantically clambered out of bed and began getting dressed, but she idly wandered to her room, and came back fully armored before he’d even had a chance to pull on his robe.

Urianger was searching his drawers for a spare set of underthings when he heard a soft crunch from behind him. He turned, still nude, to find her sitting in a chair, staring directly at him, eating an apple without a care in the world. His cheeks flushed pink. “I trust thou art _enjoying the show_?” He said sarcastically. 

She chuckled, and took another bite of her apple, and flicking her tongue out to get an errant bit of juice. Her cheeks were flushed as well, but she said, “Quite,” in an easy tone.

He returned to dressing, but found himself suddenly self-conscious after last night, aware of her eyes on him in a way he had never noticed before.

* * *

The Nu Mou were surprisingly eager to hand over the scepter, most likely due to whatever vision his beloved and Minfilia had seen, and he couldn’t complain. Though he wanted to take her back to the Shelves and continue his _”studies”_ until the end of time, he knew that the task before them would require much more of their attention, and could not wait. Further, he needed to finish here, so he could discuss the _Binding_ with Y’shtola.

The Amaro were welcoming enough, though Seto initially refused to help them. As they spoke, however, he mentioned a man named Ardbert, and Urianger was surprised to see _recognition_ flash across her face. He wanted to ask her about it, but soon she was off helping the Amaro, and attempting to prove herself to Seto, in the hopes he might change his mind. 

Urianger went to follow her, but Seto called his name, softly, from his roost. He approached cautiously, and looked up at the large Amaro. They stared at each other in silence for a time, before Urianger finally looked away, at the ground.

“You are bewitched, aren’t you?” Seto adjusted his wings and settled back into place.

Urianger wanted to deny it, but he turned and looked over his shoulder. She was standing near a group of smaller Amaro, talking cheerfully. The wind picked up a lock of her hair, just beside her ear, and tugged it gently in the breeze, and she turned to him. Though they only made eye contact for a moment, she smiled warmly to him, then returned to her companions. He let out a soft sigh, “How could I be aught else?”

Seto nodded. “Loving a Champion is a hard road.”

Urianger turned to him, eyebrow raised. “What dost thou mean?”

“My master was like her,” the large Amaro sighed, “Always rushing out to save others with no thought to himself. Impulsive, giving,” Seto’s eyes slid from the hero to Urianger, “Overly _trusting_.”

Urianger swallowed nervously, but said nothing.

Seto waited a moment, then continued. “I can see the lie written on your heart, though I cannot see what it is; I can also see your intent, to save her, rather than cause harm. I will not reveal your secret - in truth, I wish someone had lied to Ardbert a few times to keep him out of trouble.”

Urianger relaxed slightly. “I would rather be the blackest villain of her tale, than, through even the most noble of means, condemn her to death.”

“A friendly bit of advice, however,” Seto replied, “Let her _be_ the hero. I can see it rising within you - the desire to save her, and protect her. If you only act out of a desire to preserve her, and try to prevent her from saving others, she will chafe at the bonds of your love, and leave. It is the nature of Champions. They are like quicksilver: if you clutch it in your hand, it will run out between your fingers and be lost; hold your hand open, and it will remain undisturbed. You have caught your quicksilver, boy. Now you must keep it.”

Urianger could sense a dismissal in the words, and walked over to a nearby tree, to think. 

When she returned, she spoke to others - to Seto, to Thancred and Minfilia, to the other Amaro, before approaching him.

“Seto has given me the shoes…” She trailed off, her eyes searching his. “What will you do?”

He heard the question for what it was. The Fuath had been different. He had been with her the whole time, until they had been separated, unintentionally. Now, for the first time since they had become… _something_ , he was in a position where he must stand aside, and let her stride into battle alone. They needed him at Lydha Lran. Sul Uin had come and said the Eulmorans were breaking through. But her question was acknowledging a new reality between them: if they intended to be more than idle lovers, they were responsible to each other for their actions.

Urianger stood, and as he looked down into her eyes, he knew that this was just as much a test for her, as it was for him. If he forbid her to go, would she stay? Who would win in that battle of wills? What precedent were they setting regarding her adventuring?

For a moment, all he could see was his greatest fear - her corpse, bobbing along the surface of Longmirror Lake. Even though his every instinct screamed to forbid her to go, to protect her at all costs, even unto the destruction of the First, Urianger swallowed, his throat tight, and thought on what Seto had said.

_Quicksilver._

* * *

Urianger stayed back, keeping an eye on Alphinaud and Ryne with Sul Uin, while the other pixies made merry with the Eulmoran army at Lydha Lran. He winced when Ran’jit caught one of the pixies, unseen, and kept his silence when Alphinaud demanded they parley with the army to save them. He should have spoken up, he knew, but his mind was too cluttered. He had let his beloved run off into battle, _alone_ , while he had come here to hide like a sniveling coward.

_Thou canst not be honest with her, thou canst not protect her, thou canst not even be of_ use _to her,_ he thought to himself, _Prithee, wherefore shouldst she love thee. It is not thy deserving._

He even stood back in silence, as Alisaie and Thancred came forward to defend Minfilia from Ran’jit’s ravings. He tried to remember Seto’s warning, to let go, and let her be the hero, but he certainly had a lot more to learn on that count. But Seto had reminded him of an _unpleasant_ fact - he was lying to her. Further, he had every intention to lie to her, both now and in the days to come, until, hopefully, G’raha Tia’s plan succeeded, and she was free of corruption.

For the first time, however, he found himself thinking about what would happen after. Before, he had assumed she did not share his affections, and would just be angry at him, possibly pull her weight to have him expelled from the Scions for preventing her from ‘saving the day’, but at the end of it all she would have been saved, and he would still have the secure knowledge that he did all he could for the woman he loved. Now, after her acceptance of his feelings, and _last night_ , lying to her had a real cost, beyond her displeasure. 

_Thou hast found what heaven we mere mortals can amongst these wretched stars,_ Urianger thought to himself, _but, it seems, thou art damned to lose it either way._ He barely noticed as Thancred began giving a thrilling speech to Ran’jit regarding Minfilia. _Well,_ he thought again, looking towards the bright sky, _Let thee not miss heaven by inches. If thou wilt be damned, then taste what sweet nectar of her love thou canst snatch. Continue to research the_ Binding _and if G’raha Tia fails, thou canst still save her with that, though thou wilt spend the rest of eternity suffering her hatred._

Though he was staring at the sky, he didn’t really see it, not until Alisaie suddenly called out, “Look - the sky!” At those words Urianger’s eyes snapped into focus, and then were lost again in wonder.

The bright light, his companion these eight long years, burned away in an instant to blessed night. He could see the stars, again, and feel the quiet solace that only the dark sky could bring. It settled on his heart, soothing the tempest inside him, even as tears sprang to his eyes. “By the Twelve,” he murmured, “I had quite forgotten how much I loved the dark.”

His eyes snapped back down to Ran’jit, just as the pixies began to cheer. Their voices intermingled, with cries of “The King has returned!” and “Make ready the feast!” as they made quick work of the Eulmorans. Even the Fuath, whom he had not quite forgiven, gained a few new members that night, and he could not begrudge them their wrath when it fell upon his enemies. The Eulmoran Adjutant accompanying Ran’jit began barking orders, to little effect, and a roar drew all of their attention to the east.  
High in the sky he saw Feo Ul, though not as she had ever appeared before. He knew, without needing to ask, that she had become _Titania_ , King of the Fae, and based off the affectionate glance she cast to the figure on an Amaro flying beside her, he knew his dearest had been the cause. 

Behind him, the Adjutant begged Ran’jit to retreat. The general made his parting shot. “All who stand with the Warrior of Darkness shall face justice! My master demands it.” Though Urianger could not be sure, he felt as though Ran’jit’s eyes were boring into his soul as he spoke. At those words, the Eulmorans fled, and he felt a release of tension he had not known he was holding. He looked back into the sky, and his beloved and Titania were much closer now. He could make her out beside the radiant fae, and as soon as they made eye contact, she smiled.

* * *

Their champion told them all of her battle with the last Titania, and Feo Ul declared the people of Il Mheg owed her a great debt, and would come to help when they could, if called. As they prepared to leave, Titania, in all her majesty, fixed her eyes on Urianger, and spoke in the tongue of the fair folk.

“[You owe me a debt as well, mortal, for it was I that took her place as the King, so that she might return to you. When the time comes to pledge yourselves, I had best receive an invitation. I know you are aware how upset we can become when we are _slighted_.]” 

Urianger’s mind flashed with wonder tales from his childhood, the capricious fairy denied an invitation to the baptism, and cursing the child. He had absolutely no doubt Feo Ul would make him pay for any perceived slight. 

The people of Il Mheg flew off, leaving the group of them together at Lydha Lran. Thancred almost immediately called on them all to leave and head back to the Crystarium, to decide where to go from there. As everyone began walking away, she held back, and so Urianger stopped as well, letting the others put distance between them, then turned to her, and held out his hand.

She came to him, her hand slipping into his with an ease that belied how short their courtship had been. He tugged gently, turning her around so she pressed her back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. Together, in silence, they stared up at the glittering stars, and though he felt he should say _something_ , Urianger found himself speechless.

What words could possibly express the devotion he felt to the woman who had returned to the Astrologian his stars?


	6. Crystarium, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party heads to the Crystarium for a little downtime before this next adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting to get another chapter out so quickly, but I was bit by the writing bug and had a free afternoon! I hope you enjoy!

Urianger shook his head as he and the Warrior of Darkness appeared beside the Aetheryte in the Crystarium. He was always slightly muddied afterward, during those moments it took for his aether to right itself, but the feel of her hand in his brought a smile to his face nonetheless. 

They met up with the others in the center of the city, before the steps leading up to the Crystal Tower, and were discussing their assessments of the city, when a voice called out from behind them.

“You certainly took your time. I had half resolved to complete the task myself.”

Urianger turned, and felt cold shock and confusion shudder through him. 

“And you are?” Alisaie asked.

Urianger held out a hand to stop her, and felt the familiar tension creep up his spine. Things had just become increasingly complicated. “Were one to study the annals of Garlean history, one would find yonder visage on many a page.” He sniffed. “Though by rights its youth should long since have faded.”

“Well, well, we have a historian in our midst. That spares me a lengthy explanation,” the figure said. “I am Solus zos Galvus, founding father of the Garlean Empire. And, under various guises, the architect of myriad other imperially inclined nations.” He shot Urianger a mocking grin. “As for my true identity…” 

The newcomer lifted a hand, and let it fall over his face, revealing the telltale floating mask. He bowed towards the Champion, all manners in perfect alignment. “I am Emet-Selch. Ascian.” 

“Gaius spoke of you!” Alisaie said, “A native of the Source…”

Thancred reached for his gunblade. “Equal in rank to Lahabrea. And came all this way just to introduce yourself to us?”

Emet-Selch let his mask fade, and winked to the Warrior of Light, before turning dramatically. “Behold the sky, restored to its former glory! Have you ever seen a more affecting spectacle? Ohh, it is truly, deeply…” he lowered his arms and glowered, “infuriating. Do you have any idea how much you have delayed the Rejoining?” He turned himself back around, and began ranting at her. “Following the Flood, the First had been listing ever further towards the Light-towards stasis. The end was in sight! Enter _man_ and his indomitable spirit. _He_ would haul the world back from the brink. And adding his lumpen weight to the power of growth, he duly tipped the scales, if only by a fraction. Yet a fraction was enough to spoil the perfect imbalance needed to bring about a Rejoining!”

Sighing, Emet-Selch said, “Had mankind continued to live in idleness under Vauthry’s rule, all the conditions would have been met…” he lifted his hand and pointed accusingly at the Warrior of Darkness. “But _you_ had to come and ruin it all! Thanks to your meddling, Light’s supremacy is in doubt, and our painstakingly laid plans are in tatters!”  
While the Ascian ranted, Urianger took a protective step closer to his beloved. He saw Emet-Selch’s eyes flick to him for a fraction of a second, and a small smirk twist the corner of his lips. Urianger placed his hands on her shoulders protectively.

Thancred pulled his hand from his gunblade. “Well, I should begin by thanking you for confirming Urianger’s theories on the inner workings of the Calamity. He will be most pleased. As for what happens _next_ , might I suggest you admit defeat and walk away?”

Emet-Selch’s smirk grew. “Happy to let me go, are you? Because the murderous glint in your eye suggests otherwise. Indeed, it is enough to make me think better of confronting you alone.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Look, it did cross my mind to simply side with Vauthry and kill you all. But that’s no different from what Lahabrea did. And we all know how _well_ that ended for him.” The Ascian smiled ruefully to the Champion. “And so, while it is liable to be troublesome, I have settled upon a different approach…” He strode up to her, and leaned close, not even attempting to feign innocence. “Cooperation!” 

Urianger instinctively dug his fingernails into his beloved’s shoulders possessively. The look Emet-Selch was giving her could only be described as a leer.

“I will not raise a hand to hinder your hunt for the Lightwardens,” The Ascian said, and lifted one finger, tilting her chin up toward his face. “If you desire it, I will even lend you my knowledge, and strength.”

The Ascian was going too far, being too intimate with her, and Urianger wanted to drag her behind him and beat the smirking immortal with his bare hands. He knew the thought was unseemly, and overly possessive and aggressive, but he decided he would examine it later. For now, he must follow her lead, and she seemed content to let him speak himself out.

“Since time immemorial,” Alphinaud said, “you and yours have labored to rejoin the thirteen shards, at the cost of countless lives. Do you expect us to believe your objective has suddenly changed?”

Emet-Selch straightened, and turned to Alphinaud, “Nay, our objective is the same as it ever was - though I daresay you do not know our motive. A war waged without knowledge of the enemy is no war - it is a mere bloodletting. Just once… might we not seek to find common ground?” He turned his attention back to the woman before him, his eyes raking over her body before he continued.

“For good or ill, I am immortal. Provided I have the inclination, I can always begin anew. Scheme and conspire to my heart’s content. But this time, I thought I might instead try to see eye to eye. To understand what _drives_ the hero of the Source.” The Ascian reached up again and cupped her chin in his hand, turning her face to the side, then stroking a thumb down her jaw. “To determine if our goals are truly incompatible…” He licked his lips, and leaned close, as if to kiss her, but then released her and stepped back. “So come. Shed your preconceptions. See beyond the unscrupulous villains you take us for. When all is said and done, we may find ourselves pleasantly surprised. The proud discoverers of a path of cooperation rather than opposition. Think of it.”

Now that Emet-Selch had stepped away from her, Urianger could act, and he drew one of his cards and threw it at the illusion. “Thou hast delivered thy proposal, and we would not dismiss it outright. If I may offer thee counsel, however: to make thy case via an illusion reflecteth poorly upon thy sincerity.” He wrapped an arm possessively around the Warrior of Light, who buried her face in his chest.

“My apologies,” The Ascian’s voice came from behind them, and they turned, but he did not let go of his beloved. “You will forgive me if I am not entirely at ease in the presence of a famed Ascian-slayer. I felt it only prudent to take precautions. Nonetheless, your counsel is duly noted.” His lip twitched cruelly as he looked at Urianger clutching the Champion to himself. “I take my leave friends. Rest assured, we shall meet again soon.”

As Emet-Selch vanished, the entire group seemed to relax, visibly. Urianger immediately looked down at his beloved where she clung to him. “Art thou all right? Did he cause thee any harm?” He searched her face, hoping for some vital clue, some way to help. 

“I’m all right,” she said, but she still swallowed nervously. 

Alisaie stepped forward and put a hand on her back. “Well, we’ve certainly been given much to ponder, but first things first: we should report to the Exarch. You can run along. We’re perfectly capable of handling this little task.” Alisaie chuckled as the Warrior of Darkness turned to her. “In light of recent excursions, I’d say you’ve earned a rest. Go on, take yourself off to bed. We’ll see you later, refreshed and ready for more.”

Urianger nodded his agreement, and leaned down, kissing his lover’s cheek. “Lady Alisaie’s suggestion is a wise one, _moitié_. Wouldst thou permit me to call upon thee, afterwards?”

She nodded, and he leaned down to kiss her, just a gentle brush of his lips against hers.

* * *

Urianger could see the barely restrained laughter on the others faces. He had given a succinct explanation of the events of the past few days to the Exarch, but apparently his compatriots found his decision to leave his personal life, and thus, his blossoming relationship with the Champion, out of it _hilarious_. Alphinaud and Alisaie kept shooting each other knowing smirks, and Thancred looked like he was about to begin crying, so heavy was the strain of not laughing.

“Thank you, Urianger,” G’raha Tia said, when he had finished. He turned to face Urianger, and smiled brightly, as if he was completely unaware of the hidden mirth of the others. “Your explanation was quite _succinct_. Something you’re known for, I’m _sure_.”

Urianger was very sure he was being teased. “Well. Exarch. My friends.” He bowed. “If thou hast no more need of me, I beg thy leave.” He turned and strode purposefully towards the door, avoiding the gazes of the others as they began giggling and laughing uncontrollably. Just as he placed his hand on the gilt handle, the Exarch cleared his throat.

“Oh, before I forget, Urianger. I had some things set aside for you that you might be interested in. Speak with Bragi, would you?”

Urianger wanted to respond with the appropriate thanks, but he couldn’t. Something was wrong within him. Disquieted. He pulled open the door, and strode out without a word.

* * *

Urianger sat at the bar in the Wandering Stairs, the strange box from the Exarch before him on the countertop. He had not opened it yet, but he desperately needed a drink. Something had changed. In him, in the air, he could not tell, but his patience was worn thin. Even a week ago he would have stood the mockery without complaint, but now…

He took a swig of the glass of brandy before him, and sighed. Urianger wasn’t an idiot, he knew what was wrong. He had always kept his emotions locked behind the impassive mask of the academic. Never here to be the hero, he was content to stand on the sidelines and dispense useful information to those more capable than himself. But now, he had let the mask slip. 

In an ill-advised bargain with Feo Ul, he had agreed to try to court the woman he had secretly loved, and now his heart, having tasted the freedom to soar, was not content to be chained again. All the riotous emotions - fear, anger, jealousy, passion, lust - raced through his veins dangerously. Magic required rigid control, but he seemed to have that in short supply these days. He took another sip of the brandy and eyed the package a moment before pulling the top off and setting it gently on the bar beside him.

Inside, he found a book wrapped in cloth, a small black chest slightly larger than the palm of his hand, and a letter, which he grabbed first. It was written in the Exarch’s hand, but what it said nearly made him choke on his drink.

> Urianger,
> 
> It has come to my attention that you never do anything by half-measures, after speaking with Feo Ul. She mentioned the books you were reading, and though it took me some time, I think I have hit upon what you are planning to save our Champion. As our goals are not at cross purposes - for indeed, we both seek to save her life - I am happy to lend what support I can to your endeavor, as you continue to lend your support to mine.
> 
> Good Luck,  
>  -G-  
> 

Urianger pursed his lips and folded the letter again, tucking it into his pocket. He carefully unwrapped the book. The cover was rather plain, brown leather, with the title embossed in delicate letters: _The Binding: An exploration of advanced aetheric theory through examination of one of its most dangerous applications_. 

The setting sun was streaking the clouds above with pinks and oranges when Urianger finally got up from the bar, and headed for the Pendants.

* * *

>   
>  The first step of the Binding requires the pair to be bound to have achieved a sympathetic aetheric resonance. While there are a number of ways to perform this feat temporarily, oft seen in wielders of the Echo when they experience visions, this ritual requires the resonance to hold for a prolonged period of time.
> 
> Thus, it is recommended for those who seek the Binding (which we do _not_ recommend, given the length of its effects) to find a way to ease into aetheric resonance over a few days to a few weeks.
> 
> While the Binding itself is not recommended, easing into sympathetic aetheric resonance with another can assist greatly when performing great works that require multiple mages working in concert. The most common way this is done is by carrying about small bits of aetheryte attuned to your other ritual partners. Below we will examine…  
> 

* * *

Urianger clutched the small black-lacquered chest in his hands, and waited patiently outside his beloved’s door. He had spent most of the day reading the book about the _Binding_ , and he was eager to discuss it with Y’shtola. But this step, this first step, he could safely take, and the Exarch had even provided the means for it.

She opened the door, and smiled when she saw him, stepping aside so he could come in. Her rooms were lavish, but he wasn’t surprised, given the Exarch’s esteem for her. She had a large window, open now to enjoy the sunset, and a number of amenities. Her armor was spread out on one of the benches, showing the telltale signs of having been recently cleaned and polished.

“I seem to recall thou wert sent here to rest, beloved,” he said, smirking at her.

“I was going to rest, but _someone_ had asked to join me here. I had thought they might arrive a bit earlier.” She gave him a pointed look, but chuckled soon after. “I take it the meeting was productive?”

“As productive as was possible, I fear, given our compatriots’ sudden need to laugh like children because I had not planned on telling the Exarch about our…” he looked at her tentatively. “I have realized that we have not strictly defined what purposes we work towards, my dear, and thus I have no basis on which to determine how I ought to refer to thee.”

She giggled and sat on the bed, patting the spot next to her. “That’s a fair question, Urianger. What are you looking for from this?”

He took the offered seat, and clutched the box nervously in his hands as he blushed. “Aah, perhaps I was too nervous to explain more clearly. It is my dearest desire, my lady, that after we have had time to ensure we are well-suited, that thou wouldst consent, and allow me to take thee to…” Urianger swallowed nervously. “To take thee to wife, as it were.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully, so he continued. “I know we touched upon the topic a little yesterday morning, but I feel that clarity will help alleviate any issues we might encounter. Thus, do I bare my truest heart to thee: if it were solely my prerogative, I wouldst have already taken thee to any man of faith I might find who wouldst bind thee to me in matrimony. But I do not seek a biddable and compliant wife; I have no illusions regarding the woman to whom I wouldst _bind_ myself. Thou art more than capable of making thine own decisions, and whilst I have enjoyed eight years of relative peace to think upon thee, thou hast not had such luxury.” He felt himself preparing to stammer on, and so sank his teeth into the tip of his tongue to keep himself silent, to give her room to speak.

“So, if I understand, your ultimate goal is marriage, but you know I am not yet ready for that?” She asked, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Urianger nodded. “Please, I do not wish for thee to feel rushed. I have waited for eight years to see thee in the flesh again. I wouldst give thee eternity, if only for the _chance_ to have thee as mine own.” He tried not to think about the _Binding_ , but the chest felt heavy in his hands.

His beloved gave a quick nod, and said, “And what would you like _now_? How would you prefer to define…” She waved her hands between them. “Whatever this is?”

He brought one hand to his chin and thought out loud, for a moment, to gauge her reactions. “I believe you are, in less formal situations, my ‘girlfriend’.” He grimaced slightly at the word. “I find that it does not properly express the feelings I have for thee. It does not carry the same gravity, or permanence, that I wish to convey when I speak of thee. ‘Wife’ will, in due course, if thou shouldst find me acceptable, but…” he trailed off, and looked down sheepishly, his hand dropping to the box.

“How about fiancee?” She asked into the silence. “It expresses our intentions, but signals we are not yet wed.” She nudged him playfully with one of her feet. “Unless I misunderstood why you nervously showed up in my room, hours later than expected, with a small box and started nervously talking about your hopes for our relationship?”

“It wouldst be cruel of me, to ask thy hand when I am not yet free to leave the First,” he whispered, not lifting his gaze from the box in his lap. “Thou wilt return to the Source, and here I must remain, until a way to return has been found.”

“Cruel would be denying us what joy we can have, while the door is open,” She looked out the window, and he watched as the last rays of sunlight slipped across her face before the sun vanished behind the horizon. “If you asked me to stay on the First with you, I would,” she said quietly. “I would stand aside, and let the Ascians do the whole damned _Rejoining_ , if it meant I could be with you in peace.” Her voice cracked softly, and he reached out, rubbing his knuckles gently along her jaw.

“I brought thee a gift,” Urianger whispered into the silence, “if thou art interested.”

She looked back over at him, the movement causing her braid to slip off her shoulder and behind her back. “Maybe,” She said, smiling weakly, “what is it?”

Urianger smiled, and opened the box. Inside, on a simple black cloth, were two pieces of aetheryte, about the size of a thumb, hung from durable cords for the ease of wearing. “Art thou familiar, my dearest, with the concept of sympathetic aetheric resonance?”

* * *

Dawn found Urianger heading across the Plaza toward the Crystal Tower, grinning like a twelve-forsaken fool. The scent of sandalwood lingered on his skin, and the tiny sliver of aetheryte hung from his neck beneath his robes. It had very little effect, other than a vague reassurance of a connection. If he held it in his hand and focused, he could feel her presence, a whispering answer to his own.

G’raha Tia had left word with the attendants at the Pendants that he wished to see everyone as soon as they awoke, but Urianger could not bear to wake her, not when she looked so peaceful. He merely left a note on the pillow, and headed out. She would catch up, and if not, he would relay all to her afterward.

“Exarch!” Urianger called out as he pushed open the doors to the Ocular, “I should like to apologize for-” His voice stilled in his throat as he saw Emet-Selch standing before the Exarch, in a heated argument.

“I have no _care_ for your plans and circumlocutions, Exarch. You will tell me what that cuntstruck elezen is planning, or I will -” Emet-Selch froze, then turned to Urianger, all smiles. “Aah, the man of the hour.”

The Ascian descended the dias, his arms outstretched in friendly greeting. “Just the one I was hoping to talk to... It seems one of the books from the Umbilicus has gone missing!” 

Urianger raised his eyebrow. “And thou believeth that has aught to do with me?” 

“I do, actually!” Emet-Selch laughed. “The book in question was about an extremely powerful ritual, you see - one that, I have on good authority, is banned by the Sharlyans, much like the _Flow_. You wouldn’t _happen_ to know anything about that, would you?”

Urianger glanced over Emet-Selch’s shoulder to G’raha Tia, who gave a near imperceptible shake of his head. “I know not of what you speak, Ascian,” Urianger said. “All books in my possession I have retrieved for myself, from the Musica Universalis.”

Emet-Selch pursed his lips. “Quite. Well, let me give you a warning, _friend_. What you think you’re doing? Don’t try it. It won’t end well, for either of you.” He patted his hand firmly on the center of Urianger’s chest, over the aetheryte hidden beneath his robes.

The Ascian turned back to the Exarch. “Now, where were we?”

Urianger lost a few turns in conversation at the shock. What did Emet-Selch know? What did he think he knew? What was his purpose here? He only shook himself from the reverie when the door closed behind him. He realized the others were with him, now, and he turned to see his beloved.

Alisaie spoke, “Ah, there you are. You’re just in time to welcome our guest…”

* * *

The meeting with the Exarch was relatively productive, after the spectre of Emet-Selch had left. It was agreed that Alisaie would return to Amh Araeng, and Alphinaud to Kholusia, to find news of the lightwardens there, while Urianger, his beloved, Thancred, and Minfilia would travel to Rak’tika to seek out Y’shtola, and the Lightwarden within the forest. On their way, they were to stop in at the Church of the First Light in Fort Jobb, in order to find a tablet they could gift to Y’shtola.

As they walked, Urianger kept looking over at her. She seemed to have chosen to set aside her usual sword and armor, and instead wore a rather revealing ensemble with a chakram at each hip. The piece of aetheryte he’d given her, imbued with his own energies, dangled freely about her neck. Multiple times along the way to Fort Jobb, she caught him staring at her, and teased him, but how could he not? He was so used to seeing her clad in tight metal armor that the sight of her midriff, her bare arms, and the flashes of her thighs through the slits in her skirt maddened him.

He followed her, dutifully, to Fort Jobb, and together they found their way down into the abandoned church. Together with Thancred and Minfilia, they searched the chapel, looking for the tablet. 

Well, tried to search for the tablet, in Urianger’s case. Every time he tried to dedicate to searching an area, out of the corner of his eye he would see that damnable woman leaning over something in such a way that he could see the curves of her breasts, or stretching to run her hand along something high up so her skirt shifted and bared an entire leg, even the hip, to the still air of the church. He finally just stopped bothering to look when she came over near him, and draped herself in an unlikely position to search a box.

“If thou wish to be ravished, prithee, just say so,” he grumbled at her. 

Thancred’s coughing laughter reminded him that others were present, and Urianger groaned into his hand as he covered his face. A moment later, the Champion popped up from the other side of the altar. “Is this it?”

She held an ancient piece of stone up in the dim light of the chapel, then offered it to him. He took it from her, but caught her wrist and pulled her hand up to his lips to plant a quick kiss on it before releasing her to focus on the tablet. It was, indeed, of ancient origin, and covered in an unfamiliar script.

“I believe we have what we were sent to find,” Urianger said, showing the tablet to the others. “Shall we continue our journey to our dear friend Y’shtola?”

Thancred looked between Urianger and the Champion beside him for a moment, then grinned. “You know, I just realized, Minfilia, I left all my imbued bullets back at the Crystarium.”

Minfilia looked up at him in confusion, “But Thancred they’re right -”

“Yes,” Thancred yelled loudly, drowning out Minfilia’s voice. “Definitely forgot them. Minfilia and I will just pop back to the Crystarium. We’ll meet you two here in a few hours?”

Urianger flushed pink, seeing the looks exchanged between his beloved and Thancred. _Twelve forfend…_ he thought, _The minx hath worked together with him to set me up._ He nodded waving his hand in dismissal to Thancred, who chuckled as he hauled Minfilia up the stairs and out of sight.

He stood in silence for a few minutes, staring up the stairs after Thancred, long after the sounds of his friend’s egress had faded away. Urianger only startled when he felt her fingers brush gently over the small of his back. Turning to look at her, he felt his face darken even further. She was sitting on the edge of the altar, one leg pulled up and out through the slit in her skirt, revealing a smooth expanse of her inner thigh.

“Yes, _minette_?” he asked, trying to keep his desires and frustrations out of his voice.

“Thancred said there’s a trick you know,” she murmured, looking up at him. “I was going to ask you to demonstrate, but you were gone when I woke up this morning.” She pouted a little, but continued reaching for him.

Urianger smiled again. _I will not miss heaven by ilms,_ he thought to himself. “If thou art sure this is thy desiring, then I will, of course, oblige thee.” She grinned, and started reaching for the laces that held her bodice shut. “But first,” he continued, laying a hand on hers to slow her down, “Thou must select a safe word.”

He chuckled to himself to see her eyes go wide.


	7. Fort Jobb (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger and the WOL engage in some light BDSM and oral sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you find this as delightful to read as I did to write!

“A-a safe word?” she stammered. 

“Yes,” he said, tilting his head, a small smile spreading across his face. “A word or phrase thou wilt call out if thou hast need of a break, or wish to stop.” Urianger reached up and brushed his hand along the side of her cheek. “I trust thou art familiar with the concept?”

She nodded, turning slightly pink. “Why would I need one?”

Urianger sighed, and pressed his forehead against hers, his other hand snaking around her waist. “Beloved, please permit me to be frank with thee. For the past eight years, I have spent every day dreaming of thee, and every night tortured with nightmares of what shouldst happen if I fail thee. Thy face hath been the last flicker of my mind when I drift to sleep, and thy name the first thing that bursts forth from my lips when I wake. I have nearly a decade of longing behind every caress, and I have felt myself becoming… _reckless_. Passions I thought long since under control bubble to the surface at the slightest provocation.”

He gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Darling, he _touched_ thee. That unclean thing… that Ascian worm…” He felt his anger rise, and his fingernails dug into her skin. A moment later he took a deep breath, and relaxed, carefully prying his hands apart. “I beg thy forgiveness. I simply…” He looked away, a moment, then back to her. “I cannot trust myself to hold back when thou art offering so freely and openly. Not just thy body, but thy heart, as well. Last night thou suggested I refer to thee as my fiancee, but I can _not_. Not yet. I…”

Urianger swallowed, and kissed her roughly. “If thou wert mine, as wholly and completely as that I might call thee my fiancee…” He was at a loss for words again, so he buried his face in the curve of her neck and slipped his hand into her hair, his fingers brushing against her scalp. A shudder passed along his spine and he tightened his grip on her, before grinding out, “Safe word. Now.”

She tilted her head to reach his ear, and murmured her chosen word carefully. Urianger gave her a single, swift nod in response, then let go of what dregs of his restraint remained. 

He peppered kisses along her neck and collarbone, occasionally nipping her with his teeth, and left a trail of tiny red marks in his wake. His hand in her hair tightened its grip and he pulled her head back, and he began snaking his way back up to her chin. “I want no one’s hands upon thee but mine. No one’s lips upon thee, but mine,” he murmured, covering her chin and jaw with kisses and tiny bites, as if he could wash away some stain Emet-Selch may have left on her purely with his passion. “I do not mind friendly affection, my dearest, like Thancred, or Alphinaud… but promise me…” He reached her earlobe and nibbled it gently, savoring the taste of her skin and her heated gasps. “Swear to me that thou art mine, and mine alone.”

She opened her mouth to reply, and Urianger turned, capturing it with his own, while his hand about her waist slid up to the ties holding her bodice - little more than an overly embellished brassiere - in place. Grommet by grommet, he pulled the lacings out, dragging his fingernail down the curve of her spine until each stitch was free. When at last he pulled the entire cord out, he twisted it in his hands, then broke the kiss.

He stepped back from her, tugging her bodice off with a quick motion, and looking her over. His beloved was breathing heavily, her breasts hidden by her hair, tousled and unkempt as it flowed around her shoulders. She lifted a trembling hand to her mouth, which was red from the roughness of his kiss. For just a moment, concern cooled his ardor, but when his eyes met hers, they were drinking him in, burning with eagerness and hunger, and it returned again, stronger than before. 

“Dance for me,” he said, trying to convince himself it was a command, but both of them knew it was little more than a desperate plea. Urianger took a few steps back, sitting on a box, and swallowed hard. He just wanted to stare at her for a few moments - to drink in every curve, to memorize every ilm - of the woman he would lose so soon. 

She grinned and slipped down off the altar, moving toward him with small steps, her hips swinging in little figure eights as she moved. “Urianger…” She called in a sing-song voice, and he dragged his eyes back to her face. As their eyes met, all thoughts of how he was betraying her vanished - there was only her, only his beloved, and his heart hammering in his chest.

Reaching the edge of the box he was sitting on, she pulled herself up onto it, over him, straddling his lap with her knees braced on either side. The fabric of her skirt had pulled itself between her legs, so the wide open slits now gave him easy access to her thighs. She arched her back, stretching her arms over her head, and he slipped an arm around her waist. 

She looked down at him and clicked her tongue. “Urianger,” she said again, her voice more forceful, “did I say that you could touch me?” Her eyes sparkled with playfulness and defiance.

He tightened his grip, pulling her down to him, so she could feel his cock straining beneath his robes. “I do not recall giving thee leave to deny me, _minette_ ,” he replied, slipping his other hand through the slit in the skirt to the thin piece of fabric between her thighs, already moist with her arousal. “Thou hast thy safeword, my dearest, but until it passes thy lips, thou art _mine_ to do with as I please.” He slipped one finger into her panties from the side, stroking her labia gently, and was rewarded with a soft whimper.

“However,” he said, dragging his fingers over her as gently as he could, “I have also told thee that I will not claim thee completely until thou canst ask me when thou are not writhing and wet for me.” Urianger pulled his hand from her panties, and looked up into her eyes as he licked the wetness from his fingers. Red shot through her cheeks, before spreading over her neck and chest, the skin of her breasts nearly as dark as her areolas. “Since thou are not yet able to _control thyself_ ,” he teased, “enough to ask for it, I shall have to content myself with the closest thing thou canst give me.”

“What is that?” She was attempting to sound controlled, but she squeaked a little as she spoke.

“Thy mouth,” he replied, reaching his now clean hand up to run it over her lips. “If I cannot yet fuck thee,” and he was gratified to see her eyes widen and feel her pulse quicken beneath his touch, “then I will fuck thy mouth.” He felt his own cheeks redden as well. He rarely cursed, even in the most dire circumstances, but it was the best word for what he wanted to do to her - something unrestrained and primal that beat all thoughts from both their minds while they gave themselves completely to each other. For now, he’d have to settle for this.

He released her waist, and gently pulled first one arm behind her back, then another. She tilted her head quizzically at him, but then understanding flashed in her eyes as he wrapped her wrists together with the lacing he’d taken from her bodice. Once they were securely tied he reached up, putting his hands on either side of her face and pulling her lips down to his. 

“As thy lips will be busy, _minette_ ,” he said, pulling away from her again, “In lieu of thy safeword, tap thy fingers three times against the floor shouldst thou need to stop.” Without waiting for an answer, he pushed her gently off the box, then down onto her knees on the floor. His hands were shaking as he unfastened his robe, pulling it open and pushing his own undergarments to the floor to free his member for her.

She looked up at him, and opened her mouth to speak, but he just slid his hand into her hair and pressed the head of his cock past her lips. She whimpered a little, but took to it eagerly, and began rubbing her tongue along the underside of his shaft, rocking her hips back and forth to move her body, and thus, her head, rather than focusing her tension in her shoulders and back.

He kept his hand in her hair, stroking her scalp with his fingers, letting his own arousal build. More than just the sensations, what aroused him was how delightfully obscene the whole thing was. The _Warrior of Light_ was on her knees before him, her hands tied behind her back by he himself, her mouth, which had screamed defiance to the very heavens, full of his cock, and she was _eager_ for more. 

Urianger shuddered in delight as she pulled her mouth off of him to catch her breath, the air escaping her sliding along his shaft, wet from her saliva. “I know this is unfamiliar to thee. Wouldst thou like assistance?”

She looked up at him, and raised an eyebrow. “What kind of assistance?” She flicked her tongue out of her mouth, licking the tip of him. He groaned, audibly, and clutched the edge of the box for support. 

“Just tap if you don’t like it,” he said, and took her head in both hands, pressing himself passed her lips to the hilt. He began thrusting, slowly, the twisting of her tongue within her mouth driving him to greater heights. He had planned to make this take longer, draw out his pleasure, but he made the mistake of looking down at her, and their eyes met. It was not the hunger that sent him over the edge, nor the sight of her so disheveled. It was the trust he found therein, knowing she was in a compromising position, and that he could hurt her, but she knew without reservation, he would not harm her, and so she let him put her in this dangerous position, purely to bring him pleasure.

He shuddered as his seed flowed out of him, but she seemed prepared, and swallowed what came forth without hesitation until he released her and slid, trembling, down the side of the box until he was on the floor beside her.

She leaned forward, nibbling his neck softly while he caught his breath. When his breathing was even, and his body had stopped trembling, she murmured. “Are you going to untie me now?”

“Of course not, beloved,” he replied, bringing one of his hands up to the back of her neck, stroking his thumb across the place where her pulse fluttered beneath her skin. “I have not demonstrated the trick for thee, yet, and thou hast asked so _sweetly_.” Still he reached for her bound hands. “But, I will admit they might be better tied in a different position.” He pulled the lacing from around her wrists, and rebound them above her head, using the one trailing end to tie her in a standing position, her wrists bound to one of the sconces on the wall.

Urianger lingered over her, letting his lips and fingertips explore as he slowly moved to kneel before her, unfastening her skirt and letting it fall to the ground around her feet. He pressed his lips to her labia through her panties, and she made a sharp intake of breath.

“Thou shalt have to be silent, _minette_ ,” he said, hooking his fingers through her panties and dragging them down her legs. “This chamber echoes, and I would so hate to have someone come to investigate thy cries, only to find thee so…” he leaned forward and licked along her inner thigh, “indecent.”

She pursed her lips and her face turned red, stifling a gasp as he gently placed his hand behind her knee, lifting her leg slightly so he could get the panties off around her foot, allowing him to spread her legs gently. Once she was settled, he tilted his chin up and ran his tongue over the edges of her labia.

She tasted sweet and salty at the same time, and he was overwhelmed by the scent of her arousal mingled with sandalwood. He licked her gently while one hand traced its way up the inside of her leg. Once he’d reached her sex, he spread her open, then slipped two fingers inside her, and used his thumb to keep her lips parted while he turned his attentions to pleasing her.

It was easier than he had expected, given Thancred’s rather lewd explanation. He tugged her gently forward by the fingers he had inside her, and he enjoyed easier access to her clitoris to the sound of her sharp gasps and bitten back shrieks of delight. He waited, carefully building her up as he catalogued every action and reaction. He could be much closer to her clitoris, she found the tongue more pleasing than his thumb in that regard. She began to buck her hips, and he heard her murmur softly. _Thancred,_ Urianger thought to himself, _thou art an obscene and immoral rake, but if this works, then I shall count thee amongst my dearest friends._

With his free hand Urianger gripped her leg, and pulled it up over his shoulder, forcing her to rely on him for balance as she swayed uncertainly from the sconce. He buried his face in her, and with the tip of his tongue, began to write upon her clitoris.

He wrote to her of his hopes, and dreams - promising her all the days and nights allotted to him - and confessions of his wrongdoing. In those sweeping strokes he told her of his betrayal, and G’raha Tia’s plan, his lies and circumlocutions. He bared his soul through the words he could not speak, and finished with a declaration of his love, and hopeful intent. As he went to sign his name upon her flesh, her body convulsed, and she cried out, that same name echoing back to him off the stone walls of the abandoned church.


	8. Rak'tika Greatwood, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light, Urianger, Thancred, and Minfilia head to the Rak'tika Greatwood to see their dear friend, Y'shtola. Emet-Selch is Emet-Selch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy the chapter! Hopefully I'll get another one done by next weekend.

As they passed from Lakeland into the Rak’tika Greatwood, Urianger explained that Y’shtola was going by the name ‘Master Matoya’, due to religious leanings of the Church of Night’s Blessed. He warned them all, carefully, only to use that title with her unless they were alone. The Warrior of Darkness walked beside him, her face tilted up towards the canopy. He found that he had an easier time with his emotions if he just kept rambling…

So he did. Urianger talked endlessly to his compatriots, telling them all he knew of the history of Rak’tika, the mighty Ronkan Empire, and the Church of Night’s Blessed. He had little patience for the religion, in truth. Darkness was merely a lack of light, not something from which to build a religion. “In truth, _ma moitié_ , it would be like someone choosing to worship a specific place, because thou hadst not been there.” He laughed. “Ludicrous in the extreme.”

Footsteps crunched along the path behind them, and his beloved turned her eyes wide as Emet-Selch approached. 

“No lands must remain beyond our grasp. Go forth. Conquer. Rule,” the Ascian announced, his arms wide beneath the dappled light. After a moment, his shoulders slumped, and his voice took on a much more personable quality. “Forgive me. A sudden pang of nostalgia for those halcyon days.”

Emet-Selch turned back, and his eyes landed on the Champion. “Exploring virgin territories, subjugating primitive peoples. All for the glory of Garlemald.” The twist at the corner of his mouth caused something to clench in Urianger’s gut.

“If you’ve brought your ivory standard, I’ll be happy to tell you where to stick it,” Thancred interrupted. His eyes flicked between Urianger, who had taken a step closer to his beloved, and the Ascian.

“Can we not simply take a moment to enjoy the view together?” Emet-Selch said. To the casual observer, it would appear he was responding to Thancred, but Urianger could see the Garlean’s eyes were fixed on the Warrior of Darkness. “Or would you rather I spied on you from the shadows?” The Ascian’s mouth twisted cruelly again, and he flicked his tongue over his lips, almost imperceptibly, but it was a clear sign - he’d been watching them. 

Urianger took another step towards her, his hand raised gently to block him from getting closer. Emet-Selch sighed. “Much more of this, and I may very well begin to regret my show of good faith.”

Minfilia spoke up - “If… If you really want to stay, then help us fight.” Thancred’s eyes widened and he looked at Minfilia in shock. The girl rarely spoke up, and what’s worse, she’d just invited the enemy to join them. 

Emet-Selch made a show of thinking about it then said, “Mmm… No, I think not. I am an observer - nothing more.” His eyes flicked back to the Champion, and he licked his lips. “Even shielded by the shadows of these boughs, I feel the Light’s presence most keenly. To accompany you is taxing enough. To fight is out of the question.”

“I will suffer your company if I must,” Thancred replied, “but not your commentary.” 

Though Urianger wanted to send the Ascian away, he knew that an enemy he could see would be easier to keep away from his beloved than one he couldn’t - or so he thought. As the group continued on into the wood, Emet-Selch always seemed to fall into step beside the Warrior of Light. Urianger would pull her to his other side, only for Emet-Selch to vanish and appear on _her_ other side. 

“Both of you!” she snapped, scowling at Urianger and the Ascian. Both looked insulted to be lumped in with the other. “I am not a marionette to be pulled this way and that in whatever game you’re playing.” She pointed to Urianger, her lips pursed, and her brows furrowed. “You, stop rising to the bait,” she ordered, then turned to Emet-Selch. “You, stop antagonizing him.”

“Thou might as well ask the sun to rise in the west, dear heart, for all the good asking an Ascian to not be troublesome wilt do thee,” Urianger replied, but he did stop tugging her about.

Emet-Selch raised his eyebrows. “I just wanted to take a walk with my _friend_. I didn’t expect her plaything to object.”

The champion rolled her eyes. “We aren’t friends. I barely know you.”

“And I’m trying to fix that!” Emet-Selch replied, laughing. “Permit me to walk with you, for a time, my lady?” He bowed, slipping easily into glossy perfection. “No tricks, just a friendly chat.” The hairs on the back of Urianger’s neck stood up as the Ascian extended his arm. “What was it you said, Elezen?” Emet-Selch tilted his gaze to him. “You’ll permit friendly affection?”

“Thou art forbidden,” Urianger growled out, his ears and cheeks red. “Specifically. By name.”

The Ascian looked down his arm to the champion. “I didn’t realize you were so easy to control. We’ve been going about it the wrong way this whole time!”

Urianger flinched inwardly as her jaw set. Emet-Selch had put her in an uncomfortable position: either she took his arm, and declared she was not controlled, thus keeping the Ascian’s attention on her; or she denied him, ran back to Urianger, and he turned his ire to her beloved. The academic was no fool. He knew which way she would go. She would always choose to protect others before herself. 

Thus he watched, with seething resignation, as her delicate arm looped through the one proffered by Emet-Selch.

From there, the walk was torture. Urianger could see that they were speaking, feel her presence through the aetheryte, but no matter how close he tried to get, she always seemed to be just out of reach, and he could not hear what they said. He was forced to content himself with watching the Ascian’s every movement like a hawk. 

It was because Urianger was watching him like a hawk that he noticed the subtle changes in Emet-Selch’s demeanor. The way the tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders when he looked at her. How his cruel smile lightened into something much more open and natural. If he did not know the truth of Ascians, Urianger might have been convinced it was not an act, and that he truly meant the woman before him no harm.

Urianger and Thancred exchanged a look. That was the rub, of course - they knew the truth about Ascians. So they continued to watch until, just outside the ruins of Fort Gohn, Emet-Selch turned to the Champion, and bowed respectfully, gently kissing the back of her hand, before turning her towards Urianger. “I give you back your champion, Elezen. Try not to cling so tightly?”

Clenching his jaw for a moment, Urianger remembered what Seto had said, _Quicksilver._ “My lady is free to do as she pleases,” he said, but it came out choked and uneven - an obvious and pathetic attempt to ignore his desire to take her aside and make her forget every place Emet-Selch had touched her. The tension in Urianger’s chest didn’t ease until she came close and he pulled her into his arms reflexively.

“Thou art unharmed?” he asked, burying his face into her hair. “He hath not hurt thee?”

“I’m fine, Urianger,” she said, and looked up at him. “Let’s find Y’shtola.”

* * *

After a while of searching Fort Gohn, they found no signs of anyone. Just as Urianger was suggesting they move on, they heard sudden footsteps among the buildings. A Hrothgar burst from behind a tree, and shouted, “Now! Surround them!”

Others appeared from behind trees and the remains of the settlement, weapons drawn. With a sidelong glance at his beloved, Urianger raised his arms slowly, and she did the same, the others following soon after - even the Ascian, despite the fact that he could end them all with little more than a thought if he so wished.

“These sin eaters - they are not like the others!” the Hrothgar said, his brow furrowed.

Thancred turned his attention to him. “There’s a reason for that. Lower your weapons, please. We mean you no harm.”

“How is it they can speak?” One of the attackers asked, his blow trembling.

His compatriot, a woman clutching a staff, replied, “It’s a sin eater trick. They mean to kill us all!”

“Please,” the Champion said, exasperation and frustration evident in her voice. “We’re not sin eaters.”

The bow-wielder lowered his bow just a fraction. “Perhaps they speak the truth.” Doubt rippled through the ranks.

Emet-Selch sighed, and turned his attention to the Warrior of Darkness. “Oh, for the love of…” She turned to look at him, her arms still raised. “I had hoped that by accompanying you, we might come to understand one another, but all I have come to understand is that you have a knack for inflaming the natives.” The Ascian’s mouth rose in an affectionate smile. Too affectionate, by Urianger’s reasoning, when he followed it up with a wink. “You’ve committed the cardinal sin of _boring_ me. And so I retire to the shade.” He blew her a kiss. “Good luck, _uxor_.”

Urianger’s blood went cold as Emet-Selch vanished into the darkness. He knew that word, though he did not speak the language well. _Uxor_ was an Allagan term - for a wife. 

The locals began chattering anxiously after the Ascian vanished, and Thancred groaned. “I think I preferred Lahabrea.”

“Enough,” A familiar voice cut through the din, and Urianger felt himself relax a little. “Runar, report.”

“Master Matoya!” The Hrothgar in charge said. The champion’s gaze immediately shifted from anxiety to relief and affection. She and Y’shtola had been good friends in the Source, and he had heard Y’shtola refer to her as ‘sister’ on more than one occasion - a sign of their great esteem for each other. More than Thancred, the Exarch, or anyone else - it was Y’shtola’s approval of their courtship that he most desired. 

“We apprehended them as you ordered,” Runar continued, his eyes anxiously sweeping back and forth. He would not look directly at Y’shtola. “But… are you certain these are sin eaters?”

Y’shtola turned her unseeing, yet too seeing, gaze upon the group of them. “The intense light of the aether I saw was unmistakable. If not sin eaters, then what?”

Urianger looked over at his beloved, and she looked up towards him, confusion etched onto her features. “‘Tis passing queer,” he murmured, so that only she could hear, “that Y’shtola should mistake us for the enemy, is it not?” A pained expression flooded her features. “Mayhap it hath been too long since last she beheld the radiance of thine aether…” Urianger was wracking his brain, desperately formulating an explanation. She could not know the truth of the aetheric corruption. Not yet. She might stop hunting the Lightwardens. Someone might convince her to take more time to find another solution. He gave the woman beside him a comforting smile, and turned his attention to Y’shtola.

“Master Matoya. Hath time truly made strangers of us?” Urianger called out. 

“Nay,” Y’shtola said, smiling softly. “I recognize you, Urianger, Thancred. And this is Minfilia of the First, of whom you spoke before.” The Miqo’te turned a smile on the young girl. 

Urianger nodded. “Just so. And knowing as thou must that we come in peace, might I prevail upon thee to have thy comrades lower their arms?”

“First explain this other presence in your company,” Y’shtola crossed her arms and stared Urianger down. “The one I know not.” He saw the Champion wince out of the corner of his eye. “There is but one manner of creature in this world whose aether is suffused with such an abundance of light.”

They were coming dangerously close to things Urianger would prefer to leave unspoken, for now. “Mine apologies, Master Matoya, but thou art mistaken. Before the standeth our dearest comrade. The truest hero among us.” He nodded in encouragement towards his beloved. “Though she is but recently arrived here in the First, not one but _two_ Lightwardens have already perished by her most puissant hand.”

Y’shtola’s face went from consternation to relief and joy in a flash. “It… It cannot be!”

“Nice to see you too, ‘Master Matoya’,” the Champion replied, a teasing note in her voice. Y’shtola brought her hand to her face and closed her eyes, smiling.

“Master Matoya?” Runar asked, uncertain.

“Lower your weapons,” Y’shtola said, her voice heavy with emotion. As the rest of the Blessed put away their weapons, the Miqo’te turned her attention back to the Champion. “Forgive us this hostile welcome.” She held out her hand. “Come, I would give you a proper introduction to Rak’tika and its people.”

Runar turned and nodded to the others, and Urianger watched his beloved run up to Y’shtola, the two women embracing tightly. “You have been busy since arriving in the First, I gather,” Y’shtola said as they stepped back, still holding hands and grinning. “But I would hear the tale of your travels in more suitable surroundings. With Fort Gohn yet to be rebuilt, the Night’s Blessed have made their home in a settlement to the northeast. Come, let’s be off.” 

The two women immediately began walking along the path at a sedate pace, their skirts rustling against each other just enough to hide whatever whispered secrets they exchanged. At one point, Y’shtola looked back over her shoulder at Urianger and gave him a cheshire grin. His face flushed. While he trusted his beloved to be discreet when necessary, he suddenly had the startling understanding that his definition of the term might vary considerably from hers. Especially when Y’shtola placed a hand over her mouth and giggled conspiratorially with the Champion before giving him another smirk. His blush deepened as he wondered how long all of his colleagues on the First were going to tease him about his relationship.

“It’s all in good fun,” Thancred said, falling into step with him. “Y’shtola and I had a wager, you see.”

“A wager?” Urianger turned to his friend. _My best friend,_ Urianger realized, with a start. Though he and Thancred were as different as night and day, he realized he depended on Thancred more than he let on. The man had stood beside him through countless troubles, and though they might rib each other incessantly for their vices, Thancred had always stood as a stalwart defender of his research and goals. The elezen smiled. “I wouldst say that I did not take thee for a betting man, Thancred, but somehow that sounds like exactly the sort of man thou art. What wager have you lost to Y’shtola?”

“ _Lost_?” Thancred laughed. “How do you know I’ve lost?”

“She certainly seems to believe she has won.” Urianger nodded towards the women, and Y’shtola grinned mischievously at Thancred before returning her attention to the Champion.

Thancred rolled his eyes. “We’ll see. Who has won is up to interpretation.”

“Perhaps,” Urianger responded, “But thou still hast not revealed to me the terms of thy wager. I may be able to influence events in thy favor, still.”

Roughly thumping Urianger’s shoulder, Thancred laughed. “We have had a bet for some time now, regarding your relationship with the Warrior of Light.”

“Our relationship?” Urianger’s eyebrows shot up. “But Lady Y’shtola is not yet aware that it exists.”

“She’s aware. She’s been aware for ages, Urianger. It didn’t take a trip through the lifestream and aetheric vision to see that our good friend only had eyes for you. Every time she returned to the Waking Sands, she would check in on you. Every time you were gone, she would ask our Minfilia where you were and when you were due to return. It only got worse when we moved to the Rising Stones. You remember? You chose to remain at the Waking Sands to maintain our ownership of the building and do your research?”

Urianger nodded as Thancred continued. “She kept asking if we could allocate some manpower and space so that you could come to the Rising Stones and bring all your research materials with you. When she realized that wouldn’t work she kept coming up with reasons she needed to go back to the Waking Sands.”

Laughing, Urianger said, “I remember those visits, indeed. She wouldst turn up saying she had lost some vital item and proceed to search high and low amongst my books, only to produce some hairpin or pot of salve that she simply could not do without, but she always seemed to forget something while she was there searching for the previous item, and so would come back again.” He rubbed his face with his hand. “Twelve above… Canst I truly be that oblivious?”

“Yes,” Thancred replied without hesitation. “Anyroad - the wager was over how long you’d wait after realizing your feelings to do something about it. While Y’shtola said it would be years, and is technically correct in that regard, I argue that as the object of your affections was unreachable for those eight years, you were physically prevented from acting on your true intent, which at the minimum invalidates the wager, possibly even casts me as the winner as you didn’t even wait a week once she was before you again.”

“My feelings,” Urianger frowned. “I was not even aware of the depth of emotion my beloved instilled in me until I arrived on the First. How couldst thou have had an inkling?” 

Thancred looked down. “You associated her with Moenbryda.”

“I fear thy meaning is a touch opaque,” Urianger replied.

“Once you seemed… I don’t know, I suppose… settled - yes - settled, after Moenbryda’s passing, like the worst of your grief had gone, we noticed every time you spent time with her, that you’d fall into despair over Moenbryda’s death again.” Thancred’s voice was matter-of-fact, but not unkind. “At first I thought you _blamed_ her for it, as though she could have stopped Moenbryda from sacrificing herself. It was Y’shtola who figured it out, of course. You didn’t blame her, you blamed yourself. But then the question became: why does her presence cause you to fall into another melancholic episode?”

Urianger pursed his lips, but did not comment, allowing Thancred to continue. “So, we continued to observe. Mostly out of nosiness. Curiosity killed the Couerl, and all that, but we do care for both of you, and…” Thancred looked forward to Y’shtola, who was whispering something in the Champions’ ear. “Minfilia. Our Minfilia. She told me that you would make each other happy. That was when it clicked. You blame yourself for Moenbryda’s death, and that made you reticent to accept your feelings, much less pursue them. So whenever you spent time with the Warrior of Light, you would come away from it, convincing yourself of your own horribleness, as if that could change anything between you.”

Thancred grinned. “Y’shtola was convinced that even once you discovered your feelings, you would spend years in self-flagellation before pursuing her. I was convinced that you are a man of action, despite being an academic, and that once you knew, you would make a grand, over-the-top gesture. And sure enough, once you had the opportunity, you certainly didn’t wait.”

Urianger chuckled. “Minfilia, Y’shtola, and thou were all so very well informed of my affections for my beloved, I see. Anyone else I should add to the list of those to whom I may never show my face again?” he teased.

“Tataru,” Thancred replied without hesitation. “She’s been planning your wedding for years. I’ve seen no less than fifteen designs for her wedding gown alone.”

“She would look lovely in a wedding dress,” Minfilia said, tilting her head. 

“Yes,” Urianger swallowed hard, and stared at his beloved. He tried to imagine what it might be like to be back at the Source with the others, and marry her in a church, with half the realm to stand witness. He hated the idea of being the center of attention like that, but if she asked it of him, he would, without hesitation. “Yes, thou art right. She would.”

They came to a stop at the mouth of a cave, and Y’shtola beckoned them to follow her inside. The twisting tunnel didn’t go far - they soon found themselves in a small gap within the stone, open to the sky, with roots of some great tree twisting overhead.

Y’shtola came to a stop and hugged her friend again, before letting her go. “Slitherbough,” she said, “is the largest of the Blessed’s settlements. They worship no gods, instead revering Darkness itself.”

Urianger snorted derisively, and Y’shtola threw him an admonishing look before she continued. “It is a curious kind of faith, but one which has granted them the strength to persevere in the wake of the Flood.”

The Miqo’te grinned at the Warrior of Light. “I hope you weren’t expecting a grand feast by way of welcome. They are a simple people.” She returned Y’shtola’s grin.

“Now,” Y’shtola said, pulling on the Champion’s hand. “I would hear of your travels away from prying ears. Come.”

The group of them retired to a small chamber, Y’shtola’s own, and together recounted all that had transpired since the Warrior of Darkness had arrived in the First. 

Having learned his lesson with the Exarch, Urianger made no attempt to hide his relationship from Y’shtola, not that it mattered. He was certain she had been told something, given the looks she had cast him as they walked to Slitherbough. So instead he focused on trying to discern the right level of affection to display amongst friends. He wanted to tear her clothes off, scrub away every trace that Emet-Selch had even been near his beloved, then bundle her back into her all-concealing armor, and never think on the Ascian, or the word he had used for her, _uxor_ , again. But he remembered the lesson Seto had tried to teach him, even if he was finding it harder to follow than expected, and contented himself with placing an arm around her while she sat on a pile of books beside him.

After they finished recounting their tale, Y’shtola put her hands on her hips, and the tip of her tail twitched back and forth. “I see,” she said. “And now you seek the Lightwarden of Rak’tika.”

The Champion nodded, and Y’shtola continued. “In the days after I arrived in the First, I too relied upon the Crystal Exarch for guidance. But his penchant for secrecy and the telling of half-truths soon lost him my trust. And thus did I strike out on my own.” She cast her eyes over the room. “My work eventually lead me here to the forest, which I have come to know like the back of my hand. I cannot say with certainty where your quarry is hiding, but I am confident I can narrow the search.”

“Well,” Thancred said, encouragingly. “Go on then.”

Y’shtola nodded. “Some few thousand years ago, this forest stood at the heart of the empire of Ronka. A great many relics of that civilization can still be found to the east in Yx’Maja.” Urianger felt his beloved shift beside him, as if to get up, but Y’shtola raised a hand to stop her. “Or rather, _could_ be found - were the area not fiercely guarded.”

Y’shtola answered the curious tilt of the Warrior of Light’s head. “Yx’Maja, you see, is home to a tribe of warriors whose lineage is said to date back to the time of the empire. Any attempt to enter their territory is met with lethal force. They offer no warnings, and suffer no trespasser to escape. Needless to say, my every attempt to survey the area has been thwarted.”

Urianger squeezed his lover’s shoulder, reassuringly. “Mayhap the Warden hideth there full knowing none may approach it for fear of these protectors,” he said, and Y’shtola nodded in agreement, then looked over at the tablet they’d brought from the church at Fort Jobb.

“As for the tablet…” Y’shtola said, pursing her lips, “I find the timing of its discovery suspiciously convenient. If I did not know better, I would think someone was trying to curry favor with me.” She sighed. “Regardless, it will take time to decipher these writings. Yet i would not be at all surprised if they somehow held the key to entering Yx’Maja unmolested. The Exarch has a nose for serendipity.” She sniffed derisively.

“If there is aught I can do to assist thee in unraveling their secrets, thou need’st only ask,” Urianger said to Y’shtola.

Y’shtola turned to him, and he saw a flicker of disapproval on her face before she smiled. “Thank you, Urianger. I may well take you up on that offer.” She redirected her gaze to his beloved, and the warmth returned to it. “While we set to work, might I suggest you take a tour of the city? Should you be in any doubt as to the importance of your role as the ‘Warrior of Darkness,’ the people here will cure you of it.”

Thancred frowned, his gaze settling on the Miqo’te. “I must say, Y’shtola… while most of us have struggled to come to terms with our altered circumstances, you seem to have adapted rather well.”

“Lest you forget,” Y’shtola retorted, “Master Matoya and I dedicated our lives to uncovering the truth which hides at the heart of our world. Though separate, the fate of this reflection is nevertheless bound to that of our home. That I would be daunted by such an invaluable opportunity is absurd.” Her eyes narrowed, and she leapt to the attack. “But what of you, Thancred? Could it be that you are still struggling to ‘come to terms’ with the nature of your young companion?”

Urianger swallowed, and he felt his beloved hero’s shoulders tense beneath his skin as Thancred’s eyes widened in shock. 

“My ‘struggles’ are none of your concern,” he shot back, “Quite why you would speak thus - and in _this_ company - I do not know. Perhaps you left more of yourself back in the Source than I assumed. If you’ll excuse me.” Thancred strode out angrily, and Minfilia looked down at the floor.

Once he was gone, the girl spoke. “He understands that I’m not the same. That I’m not her.”

Y’shtola spoke gently to Minfilia. “Understands, perhaps, but does not accept. The question being whether he ever will.” Her voice became more forceful. “And whether _you_ will, more importantly. As difficult as your circumstances may be, they are yours, not his. ‘Tis you and you alone who bears ultimate responsibility for your life.” Minfilia looked at the floor, and Y’shtola shook her head. “But you need not make any hard choices now. Why not go and get some fresh air - clear your head?”

Minfilia nodded, and headed out the door with the Warrior of Darkness. As soon as they heard it close behind them, Y’shtola whirled on him.

“Urianger Augurelt. You have a _lot_ of explaining to do.”


	9. Rak'tika Greatwood, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the party spends time among the Blessed, Urianger must face doubts, from his friends, his lover, and himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow day at work, so you guys get another chapter. Time to rev up that drama - things have been going a little too well.

Urianger took a step back as Y’shtola’s ears flattened against her head - a sure sign she was on the attack. 

“Explain, my lady? What troubles thee that thou hast need of an explanation?” He winced, he could hear the tremor in his voice.

“I have a list,” she hissed. “Let’s start with the obvious.” She reached out, and tapped the piece of Aetheryte through his robe. “Care to explain?”

Urianger had planned to, but now he found himself feeling unusually obstinate. “Prithee, wherefore should I bother? Thou art convinced of thy righteousness, so I beg of thee, tell me what I have done.”

Y’shtola crossed her arms. “I trust you mean well, Urianger. I am not angry with you, I am afraid for you.”

Urianger’s brow furrowed. “Thou hast no reason to fear for me, my Lady. It is only attuned to my…” He blushed inwardly. He still hadn’t settled on the best word for her. With a swallow, he finished, “the Warrior of Light.”

“That gives me the greatest reason to fear for you.” Y’shtola’s unseeing eyes searched his face. “She has the Echo, Urianger. What do you think will happen when you two achieve resonance?”

Urianger shrugged noncommittally. “Sadly, as far as I am aware, sympathetic aetheric resonance over a prolonged period has not been attempted with someone with the Echo before. Thus, I am incapable of giving an adequate prediction of the results.”

“Don’t lie to me, Urianger. I know you can, because _I_ can. When someone with the Echo slips into a temporary resonance with someone nearby, often during a state of heightened emotion, they can see visions and memories relating to that person. It has oft served her in her attempts to serve the Source. What are you going to do when she can see everything of you? All of your secrets, and lies?”

He flinched.

“Now, Urianger, you will tell me - what are you planning?” Y’shtola’s mouth set in a hard line.

He rubbed his head, and groaned. “Tell me, Lady Y’shtola. Art thou familiar with the _Binding_?”

* * *

Y’shtola closed the book Urianger had received from the Exarch, and smiled sympathetically up at him. “You certainly do nothing by half measures, Urianger. But I must ask - have you spoken to _her_ about this?”

“Not as yet. We won’t come into resonance for some time, and I wisheth not to trouble her when so much else has a more worthy claim on her time and attention.” He cast his eyes towards the door.

“I don’t think you should do it, Urianger,” Y’shtola said plainly. “The _Binding_... it is not a thing that is easily undone, and it _is_ binding. You would be stuck together, _forever_.”

Urianger grumbled. “I have no need of thy warnings, Master Matoya.”

Y’shtola frowned. “You will hear them all the same. Maybe then your foolishness will be more apparent to you.” The Miqo’te tapped one finger on the cover of the book. “Death does not release you from the _Binding_. If you were to die, so would she, and the two of you would be reborn again, still _bound_ , still drawn together. No matter what ages of the world came to pass, you could never escape her.”

“Ne’er would I wish for release from her radiance,” Urianger said, matter-of-factly.

Y’shtola gave him an irritated look. “Lovestruck as you are, I still don’t --” 

The door opened, and Runar entered, bowing. “Forgive the intrusion, Master Matoya.” 

Y’shtola turned her attention to the newcomer. “What is it, Runar?”

“Sin Eaters, Master Matoya,” he said, his hands twitching anxiously. “They are in the grove where Toddia fell. Two of your friends, the woman and the girl, went to go and retrieve Toddia’s heartstone, but I wonder if we should still delay the funeral?”

“No,” Y’shtola smiled, and waved her hand. “You can be certain that if my dear friend is handling it, there is no need for delay. When she has decided to do something, she is more a force of nature than a woman.”

Runar bowed, but looked dubious. “As you say, Master Matoya.” He turned and exited, the door closing behind him.

Y’shtola turned her gaze back to Urianger. “Which is _why_ I think this _Binding_ is a terrible idea. The only way to you free you from it would be for her to decide to be free.” She lifted her hand and placed it on Urianger’s face. “And that would break more than just your heart.”

* * *

Urianger entered the ritual chamber with Y’shtola, seeing his beloved standing in the back, with Thancred and Minfilia. They approached, and Y’shtola smiled at her dear friend. “It seemed only right that we show our faces. May we join you?”

The Warrior of Darkness smiled softly, and reached her hand past Y’shtola, toward Urianger. He gratefully slipped his fingers into hers, even as she gave Y’shtola a friendly nod. The Miqo’te glanced at their connected hands then at her friends face. After a moment, she bowed her head, and moved to her other side, letting Urianger be properly reunited with his love.

His arm slipped around her shoulders and he leaned down, kissing the top of her head, and Runar entered the cavern, heading towards the front, a small au ra girl behind him, carrying a jade stone reverently on a pillow.

With grim resignation on his face, Runar approached the dark pool at the front of the room. “Let us begin.”

As the service continued, he watched his paramour’s head lower, and saw a glimmer of tears cling to her lashes as the stone tapped against the bottom of the pool. He knew she, to some extent, felt responsible for the people of the Source, and the First, else she would not go to such lengths to save them, but in that moment he realized how closely she kept that purpose to her heart. That she, who had saved millions, would still weep at the funeral of one she had never met, simply because she had not come in time to save her.

“Because she was dallying with _you_ ,” Moenbryda’s voice murmured, just beside his ear. He turned his head, sharply, in that direction, but no one was there. He looked back down at the woman in his arms, and realized Y’shtola was speaking.

“That vessel represents the night sky. The ‘sunless sea of heaven.’” The Miqo’te said, quietly.

Urianger turned his attention back to Runar, who continued, “We call upon you now, O Bringer of Shadow, to lead this gentle soul unto the sea. We call upon you, O Warrior of Darkness, to deliver her unto paradise everlasting.” 

The champion’s shoulders tensed under Urianger’s arm. He rubbed his thumb gently over her skin, and lowered his head, kissing her cheek gently. He did not wish to interrupt the service, but he still wished to offer up what comfort he could. She turned to him, and buried her face in his robe, so he brought his other arm around her as well, and held her while she wept silently.

As the last of the Blessed filed out of the room, Y’shtola placed a gentle hand on her back. “I’m told you assisted in the preparations for the service. On behalf of the Blessed, you have my sincerest thanks.” The hero dislodged herself from Urianger, and wiped at her eyes, giving her friend a tremulous smile.

The two women linked arms, and Y’shtola pulled her away from him, walking towards the pool with her. “The enduring legend of the Warrior of Darkness owes much to the traditions of these people. And none were more ardent in their faith than Toddia,” Y’shtola said, smiling warmly towards the champion beside her. “She would have been greatly moved by your presence.”

“I should like to have met her,” she replied, though Urianger could only see the shift of her shoulders as she said it.

“You might not deliver her to the heavens,” Minfilia said, breaking her own contemplative silence, “but if you could deliver the night sky to her people - the _real_ night sky - it would be the next best thing.” All of them turned to Minfilia, who closed her eyes, “Their prayers would finally be answered. They could gaze up at the firmament and see their ancestors in every twinkle of the stars.” The girl turned towards the champion, her voice pleading. “We cannot allow their hopes and dreams to drown in the light. We have to bring back the dark. If we don’t, who will?” 

No one responded, and Minfilia looked to Thancred, who had his head down, and remained unmoving. Uncertainty rippled through the child’s face. “Forgive me. Thinking of all those we have lost, I…”

Thancred shook his head and opened his eyes. “No, it’s all right. We _will_ bring back the dark.” He looked at young Minfilia, his jaw set, and Urianger began to wonder if the feelings between them were as complicated as he and Y’shtola believed.

“Mayhap sooner than later, in fact,” Y’shtola said, turning back to her friend. “Urianger and I have finished deciphering the tablet, and its contents were most illuminating. Let us reconvene in my chambers. We have much to discuss.” She released the Champion’s hand, and headed out of the chamber, followed soon by Thancred and Minfilia, leaving Urianger and his beloved alone in the candlelit cave.

The silence stretched between them for some moments. They had not spent any time alone like this, truly alone, since Emet-Selch had called her his _uxor_ , his wife, after their mysterious walk in the woods. Urianger knew he had been acting like a petulant child, angry that someone else had expressed any interest in something he considered _his_ , when in truth he had no more claim on her than anyone else. Especially when one considered his secrets.

“Urianger,” she whispered, and her voice was thick with the tears she’d been shedding. He could feel it then, in the back of his mind - that terrible darkness that could pull him under for years, lead him to melancholy and self-isolation - and he knew that if he did not fight it with his every breath, he would lose what little he _could_ have with her. He didn’t know what was more foolish - wishing for an eternity by her side, or preparing to lose her just as soon as the First was saved.

He had a thousand things he wanted to say, but when he focused on her again, on the anxiety in her eyes, and the tightness in her brow, he realized there was only one that truly mattered. The only truth he _could_ give her, here in the stillness.

“I am thine,” he whispered, and pulled her into his arms, “all of my hopes, my prayers, my dreams, all of me, is thine, as long as thou wish it.”

She laughed softly, and kissed his cheek. “You will grow bored of me.”

“No,” he said, looking down into her eyes and rubbing a thumb across her cheek. He let himself imagine a future where they were _bound_. Thousands of lifetimes, glittering before them like stars. What strange sights would they find - what wondrous miracles could they bear witness to? In that moment it was all he wanted - millions of splendid mornings, the untapped mysteries of the future - with her by his side. “No, _ma moitié_. That will not happen. Thou art not-” He stopped, and swallowed anxiously. Too many emotions. Too much, too fast. He had to calm himself. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead, inhaling the scent of sandalwood. “Thou art not here for my entertainment. I love thee not as an object, that might pique my interest then lose it as the novelty fades. This is…” he gently touched the crystal that had come to rest just above her breasts, the feeling of his own aether answering back to him from her. “All I have ever wanted is for thee to go on as thou always have. Just permit me to follow thee-” his voice cracked, slightly, and he tried to ignore the tear making its way down his cheek, over his tattoo. “Permit me to follow thee. That is all I dare ask for.”

Her kiss, when it came, was cool and peaceful, and filled him with the light of all the stars in the heavens.

* * *

Upon returning to Y’shtola’s chambers, the party quickly fell into a plan. Thancred, Y’shtola, and the hero would head off to a cavern, controlled by the Children of the Everlasting Dark, while Urianger would remain behind to keep an eye on Minfilia.

They sat together in silence, reading, though he found Minfilia’s soft sighs distracting. He knew something was on her mind, but he was not good about discussing these things openly. After her seventh loud, long sigh, he closed his book, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Minfilia, prithee, what troubleth thee?”

“Oh,” The girl looked startled, as if she hadn’t been attempting to get his attention for the last hour. “I-It’s nothing.” 

Urianger pursed his lips. “Thou spendeth too much of thy time in the company of my good friend, I see. Thancred hast ever had difficulties when it came time to speak plainly.”

Minfilia giggled. “From what I’ve heard, you suffer the same malady.”

His mouth pulled up into a grin, and he bowed his head, conceding the point. “Regardless, child, thou art troubled, and it would be remiss of me to not offer what guidance I can, as the one entrusted with thy keeping.”

Minfilia closed her own book, and looked down at it for a few moments. “Is Thancred in love with Y’shtola?”

Urianger tilted his head, and his eyebrows shot up. “Why do you ask?”

“No one has gotten under his skin like that. Even you, when you threw him out. But one hard word from Master Matoya and he was in a black mood.” Minfilia looked down at her hands. “I asked the Warrior of Darkness, about Minfilia - your Minfilia. She told me she had been gone a long time from the Source.” The girl fidgeted anxiously. “And I wondered if it might be like the two of you. Thancred said that for a long time, you were blinded by Moenbryda’s memory, so you didn’t see _her_.”

Urianger looked away. The child was frighteningly perceptive, he had to admit. He wondered, not for the first time, just how much of the Old Minfilia was there, speaking through her. “It may be the case, child,” Urianger said, finally, “But it wouldst be most importuning of thou or I to say such things. Thancred must come to terms with his own heart, before aught else, just as he and Master Matoya did not say a word of mine own most obvious feelings before I had found them myself.”

Minfilia pressed her hand to her chin in thought. “I think she would want him to be happy.”

“Aye,” Urianger agreed. Neither needed to say Minfilia’s name, to know they spoke of her. “She would.”

“Like Moenbryda would want you to be happy!” Minfilia said, more excited now that she’d received some validation. “I never met her, but I’m sure she would want you to be very happy.”

He heard dark laughter from the shadows, and flinched.

* * *

The slamming of the door to Y’shtola’s chamber, after Minfilia had left to take in the air outside, was the only warning he received before the Miqo’te woman started in on him, hot fury coloring her cheeks.

“You know something, don’t you?” Her ears were back, pressed against her head, and the bridge of her nose was wrinkled in a snarl.

Urianger sighed, and braced himself. “I know a great many things, Master Matoya, but I fear thou shalt have to be more transparent, as I fear one of the things I have not yet ascertained is what particular fact has irked your ire.”

“The corruption,” she hissed. “The corruption spreading through my best friend’s soul, as you lead her happily on from one Lightwarden to the next. What is going on? Did the Crystal Exarch put you up to this?”

“Master Matoya -” he started, but she interrupted him.

“I tire of these games, Urianger!” She slammed her open palm down on a nearby book. “Why do you pretend you cannot see it? The blessing might prevent her from becoming a Lightwarden, but you _cannot_ be blind to the nascent corruption! She is not as she was in the Source.” The Miqo’te’s anger quickly cooled from firebrand to chilling frost. “Though I have no proof, I fear the light which poured forth from the Wardens was not negated at all. I fear it was absorbed - that she has been suffused with their light.”

Urianger swallowed anxiously. “Though I have given thought to this possibility, I dare not speak until more is known.”

Y’shtola leaned back and crossed her arms, scowling at him. “By the time you deign to enlighten us, it may be too late - if it is not already.” She placed a hand to her head. “Urianger - I know full well, after all these years, that you have only the best of intentions. But that does not make it any easier to put my faith in a man so _infatuated_ with secrecy.” She drew in a deep breath, and turned to face him. “I have had my suspicions ever since the Exarch bade you speak that day, but now I must ask. The Eighth Umbral Calamity and all that followed; everything you claimed to have seen - did you?”

Urianger looked down at his hands, for a long time. Y’shtola would know if he lied. So his choices were admit the whole truth, or a partial truth - only one of those would not upset both he and the Exarch’s plans. “The corruption within her grew after she slew the Lightwarden of Il Mheg. I had ample time, both before and after her victory, to examine her aether. That is why…” He placed the book of the _Binding_ back on the table, and swallowed. “That is why I have come to beg thy help. Thou art the only other I know who might be able to perform the ritual.”

Staring down at the book, Y’shtola raised a hand to her lips. “You are planning to carry the burden with her.”

“Just so, Master Matoya,” he said. He opened his mouth to continue, but a scream pierced the air, and they both bolted from the room.

* * *

Throughout Y’shtola’s discussion with Ran’jit and the Children of the Everlasting Dark, Urianger kept his arms about his beloved desperate to soothe her rising anger. “Thou canst not,” he whispered to her. “We must seek out the Lightwarden first, then deal with Eulmore. If thou runneth off now, and begin the battle in earnest, thou wilt risk the lives of all the Blessed.” His words seemed to have little effect. As soon as they could hear the enemy walking away, she bolted from the tunnel to Y’shtola’s side, with Thancred hot on her heels. Minfilia glanced to him, silent recognition of their earlier conversation, as they followed out into the light.

Y’shtola, thankfully, was unharmed but dismissive. “We will discuss these developments after I have tended to our casualty,” she said, and squeezed the Warrior of Light’s hand while giving Thancred a weary smile, before turning to Urianger, and beckoning him over. “Take your lady love and go for a walk. She is riled and we have much work to do. Come back in ten minutes or so?”

Urianger nodded, and offered his arm, which the Champion accepted, before following him in sullen silence.

They soon found themselves wandering beneath the trees, the forest unusually still. “Dearest,” Urianger said, bringing his other hand up to cover hers. “Art thou well?”

“Just thinking, Urianger.” She cast her eyes out over the horizon. 

“Prithee, share thy thoughts? If there is aught I can do to ease thy burden, I beg thee, but say the word.” He dragged his thumb over the back of her hand, slowly.

She remained silent for another few moments. “What happens if I fail?”

“Wherefore does such a worry come to thee, beloved?” He anxiously turned her to face him. “Thou art made of sterner stuff than this, and ne’er before have I seen thee so disheartened.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” she replied, then repeated her question slowly. “What happens if I fail?”

Urianger pursed his lips. “Thou wilt not fail, ergo, the question is of little relevance.” 

Her eyes darkened. “If you won’t answer me, then I will ask someone who will.” She wrenched free of his grasp, and turned away. “Emet-Selch!” She cried, her voice startling nearby birds into flight.  
“There’s no need to shout, _uxor_ ,” the Ascian purred, approaching from behind a tree. “I was wondering when you would -”

“Do not approach her, fiend,” Urianger hissed, stepping between them.

“Get out of the way, Urianger,” the Champion chided, angrily. “You chose not to answer me. So now I’m asking him.” Her eyes were clouded with anger. “Specifically,” she said, mimicking his earlier objection to their walk that morning, “by name.”

Urianger broke out in a nervous sweat. How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

“You heard her, elezen,” Emet-Selch mocked him, “get out of the way.” He strolled past Urianger, undisturbed, until he stood before the woman, and gave a pristine courtly bow. “My lady, my _uxor_ , how can I serve you?”

“I have a question I want you to answer,” She said, staring the Ascian down. Only from this angle could Urianger see her hands were shaking. “What happens if I fail?”

Emet-Selch shrugged. “Is that all? You’ll die.”

“That’s it?” She asked, tilting her head, “So, the same result as if I had failed on the Source. I die.”

“Indeed, my sweet.” He grinned over her shoulder to Urianger.

“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” She asked.

“There are a lot of things I am not telling you, _uxor_. We have no formal agreement of cooperation, so I am forced to keep my counsel.” The Ascian’s smile was warm when it fell upon the hero, but turned to cruelty whenever he looked at Urianger. Every use of the word _‘uxor’_ was, he knew, a dagger aimed at his heart.

“What would it take to get you to answer this question?” The champion asked, her head high. 

Emet-Selch raised his eyebrows. “Interested in bargaining, I see! Your time in Il Mheg was indeed well spent.” He put his hand to his chin and surveyed her. “Hmm, how about... you permit me to kiss you?”

Her eyes went wide and she took a step back. Emet-Selch raised his arms. “Just once, my lady, clothes on, nothing improper. I wouldn’t want your pet to get any more controlling than he already is, after all.”

Urianger finally found his voice. “That is enough, Ascian. She has no interest in thy games or bargains. Leave us, and speak no more to my beloved.” Cold fury ripped through him, and he suddenly found himself wishing he knew how to use a sword half as well as she. It was only when Emet-Selch’s smile twisted cruel, again, that he realized he’d fallen into the trap. Seto had warned him not to hold too tightly, lest she flee like quicksilver.

She turned from him, and faced the Ascian. “Just once, clothes on, nothing improper?”

Emet-Selch bowed again. “I swear it, my lady, on Zodiark himself.”

“I accept,” she said, and Urianger winced. He stood, helpless, as the Ascian’s arms slipped around her with practiced ease. No matter how he tried to close his eyes, he had to watch, like he was at some macabre play seeing disaster strike the tragic heroine. They fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle, and you could only see the whole when Emet-Selch held her, like this.

Their lips met for only a brief moment, before Emet-Selch pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. “I miss you, _uxor_ ,” he said. When the Ascian’s eyes turned back to Urianger, there was no mirth in them, no teasing - just irritation and jealousy. 

“What was it Master Matoya said,” he asked, looking between Urianger and the Champion. “Ten minutes?” Urianger’s fists were clenched at his sides, and he couldn’t form words, but the woman between them nodded. 

Keeping one arm about her waist, he raised his other hand into the air. “I’ll return her to Slitherbough then,” Emet-Selch said, and the cruel smile returned. “Until next time.” 

The Ascian snapped, and both of them vanished, leaving Urianger alone in the forest.


	10. Rak'tika Greatwood, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light returns to Urianger's side, and they proceed into Yx'Maja.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and double thank you to everyone that comments! It really keeps me motivated!

Urianger stared in horror at the place where his beloved had been, his entire body locked up, like a broken clockwork toy, paralyzed by rage and horror. Rage - at the Ascian, Emet-Selch who had taunted the Warrior of Light with Urianger’s own impulses, and played her into a trap where she had to choose between asserting her agency or remaining safe; horror - for now that self same hero was caught in an Ascian web, and was alone with him.

Shame swept through him as well. Shame at his inability to stop it, his inability to protect her. Shame at how he had just _stood there_ , a silent and unmoving, while Emet-Selch had pulled her into an embrace that implied years of experience with her body. No awkward fumbling, accidental elbows for the Ascian - he had made it look easy and natural as breathing when he took her away.

Urianger wanted to scream, but even now the shutters of the stoic academic clicked into place, binding him inside his mortal shell with his own anguish. Seto had warned him of this, and like a fool he had not thought to watch his emotions carefully. He had treated it all as if he were giving her _permission_ , but at the last moment he realized how truly powerless he was if she chose to go against his wishes. Now she was doing gods-knew-what with Emet-Selch, and Urianger could only blame himself.

He turned to trudge back to Slitherbough, but pulled up short when he spied a pale flash sitting atop a nearby boulder. Though it had been years since he’d seen her, he would recognize Moenbryda anywhere. She was not quite corporeal, and he wondered if it was a hallucination or a haunting.

“You know he’s probably riding her right now,” the Roegadyn woman said, hopping down from the boulder and falling into step beside him. “Probably trading a thousand empty promises for five minutes between her thighs.” She laughed. “Not like you’re any better. How many promises have you made so far, knowing that they’re just a pack of lies?”

Urianger continued walking, staring down at the path before him, desperately trying to ignore the phantom’s taunts.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” she continued, meandering beside him. “You lied to me often as well. How many times did you tell me it wasn’t the time? You promised me the future, as well. Just as soon as this or that disaster was averted. And then I died.”

He swallowed hard, but did his best to focus on putting one foot before the other.

“Well, at least she’s got an Ascian to care for her. He might bring about her death and damn the Source to another Calamity, but at least she’ll get to feel like someone loves and values her before the end! And at least he doesn’t lie to her. She knows exactly what he is.”

“Art thou finished?” he asked, looking up at the sky-brightened canopy. “Prithee, bring forth whatever mockery thou wilt - it is my deserving after all. But thou wilt not sway me from my chosen road, regardless of thy venomous entreaties.”

Moenbryda tilted her head to the side. “It doesn’t change your feelings for her, that you’ll be getting an Ascian’s leavings?”

Urianger frowned slightly, turning introspective. How did he feel about it? He took out his feelings and examined them, one by one, turning them over in his mind like strange riddles from some fearsome sphinx.

After a moment, he looked back at Moenbryda. “It doesn’t change my ardor for her, at all.” The phantasm looked shocked, but he continued. “I long to possess her, not as some toy or plaything, but so that I might myself find validation for mine own self within her embrace, believing she had chosen me above all others. But I cannot, in good conscience, demand such reassurances from her until the path before us is opened at last. Seto had the right of it - she be far too trusting for one so strong - and I am far too confident in mine own ability to solve problems without the prodigious assistance of mine allies. We are flawed people, all of us. My beloved and I are no exceptions to that rule.

“She very well may choose to lie with him while I stand here, powerless to change the situation. But my rage comes not from some antiquated notion that he might be stealing from me - it is born purely from fear of what harm may befall her in his company. Ergo, I find no ill will within myself towards her for what she may or may not do with him. If seeketh he to win her heart, truly, honorably - though this I doubt most sincerely - then I can do naught but welcome the competition. I would rather her happiness and safety than mine own. Once I came to understand that, the rest falls into place most pristinely.”

“Talking to yourself, Urianger?” Thancred called from the entrance to Slitherbough. 

The Elezen looked to where Moenbryda had stood, but she was gone.

* * *

Urianger stood in Y’shtola’s chambers, speaking with one of the Blessed, when the Champion slipped in quietly. She had an introspective look on her face, and seemed none the worse for wear. She approached him, quietly, and his companion took his leave, while Thancred and Minfilia removed themselves a polite distance. The others were aware they’d had some sort of argument, but had the decency not to pry.

She approached, quietly, then looked up at him. “Urianger, I -”

He placed a finger gently on her lips. “Thou art unharmed?” She nodded, and he felt the all-too-familiar tension, the tightening of his back and shoulders that came every time she was in danger, bleed out of him. “Then all is well.” He moved to cup her face in his hand, then stopped, tentative, his hand hovering a fraction of an inch away from her cheek. While he might not have any desire to end things between them, she very well might.

Sensing his anxiety, she stepped closer, leaning her head against his hand, and reaching up to rub her thumb along his tattoo. For a moment they remained like that, staring at each other, until he bent to kiss her.

Just before their lips met, Y’shtola and Runar came striding into the room. Urianger heard her emit a tiny groan of frustration, audible only to him, and he smiled slightly, whispering, “Later,” before pulling away.

They had come with news on the poisoned boy’s condition, and that the people of Slitherbough had made their decision - they would remain, and face death, rather than turn their backs on their religion. Y’shtola declared that she planned to take the offensive, and before Urianger realized it, his beloved was haring off with her dear friend on an adventure, while he remained to assist with building defenses for the village.

The work was not mentally stimulating, but it was physically taxing, and he found his heart much lighter for it when the two women returned to the village, sopping wet and laughing, their arms about each other in companionable affection. For a moment, Y’shtola looked over at him over the hero’s head, and nodded once, a bright smile on her face, before she murmured something to the hero. 

Urianger tossed a glance at Thancred and Minfilia, who shrugged, and came to join the group as they proceeded through the cave, and out into the wilds of Yx’Maja.

* * *

Three arrows shot from the trees, missing Y’shtola by inches, and the champion, beside her, took her chakrams into her hands. 

“‘Twould seem we have found them,” Y’shtola said, amusement in her voice.

Looking up, Urianger could see three Viera, though he knew not to what name their people answered in the First, perched on a branch, weapons drawn.

“You trespass upon sacred ground,” one of them said, her bow taught, “Begone.” Without hesitation she fired another volley. Thancred pulled his gunblade and knocked aside the few that might hit himself or Minfilia, while the Champions chakrams danced through the air, slicing through the rest.

Soon battle was upon them, as arrows fell like rain, and another of the women, this one with a lance, rushed Y’shtola. Urianger did what he could to defend the others, but it ended nearly as quickly as it began, when Y’shtola produced a golden disc, carved with an owl, and held it out towards the attackers. They immediately stopped short, and he saw the third woman, a staff clutched in her hands, murmur to the other.

“We are allies of the empire of Ronka. As is customary, we come bearing the seal of the emperor,” Y’shtola announced, fierce determination in her voice.

The woman with the spear examined the seal for a few moments, and then her face blossomed with delight. She span in place, and called up to her friends, “It appears to be genuine!”

The two on the branch spoke for a moment, then the archer called out, “We acknowledge your seal, but we must be certain of its authenticity.” She gestured to the path of blooms in below her. “Follow the azure flowers to our village. There we will judge if you are friend or foe.”

“Try not to stray from the path, alright?” The spear-wielder called, as she ran on ahead.

“Follow the flowers,” Y’shtola grumbled. “Would it kill them to escort us?” She shook her head, and turned back to the others. “But… if it affords us an opportunity to investigate Yx’Maja… fine.” Y’shtola turned on her heel, and started down the path, followed quickly by Thancred and Minfilia, and the two of them were left alone.

In a flash, they were in each other’s arms, their lips pressed together as tightly as their bodies. Urianger yearned to touch every inch of her, and make sure she was unharmed, and so he slid his hands along her body, trying to find anything that felt out of place; but no, the woman beneath him felt as whole and perfect as she ever had.

She broke off the kiss, but kept him close, her fingers twisting in his hair. “I have a question,” she murmured.

“Then I pray most fervently that I have thy answer,” he whispered, placing gentle kisses on her neck while his hand reached for the lacing of her bodice. 

“Do you -” He kissed her again, interrupting the question she was asking, before pulling away with a mischievous grin. She laughed, and continued. “Do you think Toddia’s funeral counted as a religious rite?”

Urianger’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I wouldst say so, yes. Why?” He looked down on her, wracking his mind for a moment, then laughed at the grin creeping across her face. “So thou art correct. A rite indeed. It seems all that remaineth now is a festival and a masquerade.”

She nodded matter of factly. “You know the Blessed are going to have a festival if I pull this off.”

His own smile widened. “My lady, If thou succeedeth in returning their ‘sunless sea’, they will give thee whatever is thy desiring.”

“What about you?” She asked, her smile turning from frivolous to firm. “If I slay the Lightwarden of Rak’tika, will _you_ give me ‘my desiring’?”

“Thou need not perform such feats for that, beloved.” He leaned her back a bit, so that she was being supported by his arms, and kissed her gently, then straightened. “Anything thou wouldst have, I will give thee, if it be within my power.”

She swayed in his arms a moment, her eyes pensive, and focused on some distant, unseen horizon within her mind, then met his gaze, and said, “On the night of the festival, I will come find you.” Urianger raised an eyebrow as his eyes searched her face - but he found no fear, no trepidation within it. “After I find you, we’ll go somewhere quiet, and I want you to make love to me.”

Urianger said nothing, but he felt his face grow hot, and his heart began thundering in his chest. “What?” He murmured, already doubting himself. “What wouldst thou have of me?” His voice was barely a whisper, and his throat suddenly felt raw.

She pulled herself closer to him. “Come off it, Urianger,” she purred, “you are not that stupid and your hearing is not that bad. Twice now, you have told me that you will not take me until I can ask for it when we’re not already in the throes of passion. Well, we are just walking through the forest, now, and we’re both fully dressed. And I am asking you,” she nipped at his ear and a delighted shiver ran through him, “Urianger,” his name slipped past her lips, a delicate echo of the whimpers she’d given him in Il Mheg, “to make love to me the night of the festival.” 

Urianger swallowed, and stepped back from her, and took her hand in his. All solemnity, he gave her the most formal bow he knew, and kissed the back of her hand. “As you command, my lady,” he said, and it was only when he heard his words aloud that he realized they were a promise.

“Come on you two!” Y’shtola’s voice rang out in the distance, but they remained a moment longer, lost in each other’s eyes.

* * *

Within Fanow, the bow-wielding Viis (for that was how the Viera of the first styled themselves, Urianger noted) confirmed that their seal was genuine, then invited them to rest for a time in the village. Almost all of the Viis of Fanow were welcoming, and eager to talk to the legendary allies of Ronka that had finally arrived.

In some back corner of his mind, Urianger knew he should be revelling in this. Y’shtola certainly was. A closed society of warriors dedicated to an ancient empire that had fallen three thousand years ago, and now he and his compatriots were the first outsiders to be given access in all that time? But his heart and mind were elsewhere. He kept replaying what she’d asked on the path in his mind, over and over, looking for some way he might have misunderstood her, but her intentions were exceedingly clear. 

Y’shtola approached, after having interviewed half the inhabitants of the village while he stood dumbly, staring at his beloved while she took turns firing arrows with one of the warriors. He was busy cataloguing the planes of her back, and the way her muscles flexed with each shot, and didn’t notice the Miqo’te until she coughed, loudly, right beside him. 

Urianger startled, and turned to look at Y’shtola. “My lady?”

He decided in that instant that Y’shtola was as bad as the Champion and Feo Ul. That same, self-satisfied smirk they both had now graced her features as well. “You know, Urianger, you have hands.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed… Prithee, wherefore art thou bringing this to my attention?”

“The sexual tension between the two of you is so thick I could cut it with a knife, but she has _work_ to do. Maybe if you took care of yourself privately for once and stopped leering at her, she’d stop showing off for you and actually get something done for a change.” Y’shtola rolled her eyes at him, but he glanced back at the Warrior of Darkness, who was indeed staring at him, and quickly began nocking another arrow when she registered he was looking again.

Urianger shrugged, not taking his eyes off his beloved as she fired a few more arrows. “I will not apologize for finding the woman to whom I would _bind_ myself pleasing to the eye.”

Y’shtola harrumphed beside him. “You find her pleasing now, but what about in the next life? The binding does not guarantee that you will look the same, or even be the same genders. What if she is born a man? You will still be bound to her regardless.”

“That wouldst not displease me,” Urianger said, watching as his beloved bent down to grab another arrow. “I have lain with men in the past, and my adoration for her has little to do with what one might find between her thighs.”

“Then why do you adore her, Urianger? And none of your poetic platitudes.” Y’shtola crossed her arms and watched him. The academic could tell she was needling him, as she had Thancred earlier, but he knew this was laced with concern for the Champion. Were there positions switched, he knew he would probably be much crueler.

“I love her for many reasons. If I were to list them individually, we would pass days within Fanow, and soon wear out our welcome. But to answer thee succinctly…” Urianger watched as the topic of their conversation loosed another arrow. “To answer thee succinctly, my friend, she and I walk the same path, and seek the same horizon, we just choose to use different methods to traverse it. Her thoughts are endlessly fascinating, when she chooses to share them, and her courage - her _conviction_...”

Y’shtola giggled, and he realized he was blushing again. The Miqo’te patted his arm. “All right, Urianger, no need for poetry. At least you’re capable of having a conversation with her.”

* * *

Soon after they spoke to Almet, and learned where the Viis believed the Lightwarden was - at the end of a treacherous path she called the Qitana Ravel - Y’shtola and the Champion had run off to adventure in the nearby temple. While Urianger had longed to accompany them, the Miqo’te had been firm that she and her friend would go alone.

Thancred had patted his shoulder in commiseration as the two women had run off with Almet into the trees. “You’ve had her to yourself, for the most part, since we arrived at your home in Il Mheg, Urianger. You must remember, you’re not the only one that loves her.” His friend was trying to make a joke, but Urianger swallowed anxiously as the image of Emet-Selch’s jealous gaze flickered back into his mind.

Cymet, the Viis with a staff he’d seen in the woods, called out to them, and asked if they could assist with various tasks throughout the village. Thancred was soon put to work carrying heavy items about the village, (while the younger Viis ogled him, much to his delight) while Urianger spoke with an elder named Lanille at length about what had occurred outside of Yx’Maja in the past century.

As he was finally moving on to their plan to defeat the Lightwardens, a scream echoed from the entrance to the village. Urianger bolted to his feet, and joined Thancred and Minfilia, and he watched in shock as Runar came running towards them, only to take an arrow in the back, and collapse onto the azure path.

“Runar!” Minfilia screamed, and she made to run for him, but Thancred grabbed her arm and pulled her back as Eulmoran soldiers and Children of the Everlasting Dark came pouring out of the cave from Slitherbough. 

“We have to help Y’shtola and the Champion!” Thancred yelled, and Cymet nodded.

“We’ll hold them off here,” the Viis said, and smiled at Thancred. “Go save your lovers.”

It was only as they were entering the Great Pyramid of Ux’ner that Thancred paused and said, “Wait… does she think Y’shtola and I…”

Minfilia laughed softly behind her hand. “She wouldn’t be the first.” 

Thancred scowled and opened his mouth to retort, but Urianger cut him off. “We have not the time for thy banter, amusing as it may be. The Eulmorans are no doubt hot upon our heels, and we must needs hurry.”

Thancred and Minfilia nodded, and the three of them began making their way through the byzantine halls.

* * *

Urianger, Thancred, and Minfilia darted around a corner, and skidded to a stop in surprise. Before them lay a wide chasm, and on the other side, Ran’jit approached the Warrior of Darkness menacingly.

A different kind of anger unfolded in Urianger, this time. Mayhaps he had learned something from the last day, but rather than the all-consuming rage he felt at the Ascian’s overtures to his beloved, he found himself cool and calculating. Years of practice at magic that could sunder the very heavens danced to his fingertips, and for once, he was thankful to have a simple target - a clear threat.

“Urianger!” Thancred called, already rushing forward with his sword.

“At once,” Urianger said, and a vicious, exultant smile played across his features as he ripped the Eulmoran General from his spot with a tether of magic.

Thancred’s skill came into play as well, and he attacked Ran’jit, sending him plummeting into the abyss before digging his gunblade into the far wall, at the Champion’s feet. 

Beside Urianger, Minfilia began looking around, and fear and confusion filled the girl’s face. “Where… Where is Y’shtola?”

Urianger looked up at the hero, and saw her clutching a bottle tightly in her hand, tears streaming unchecked down her face.

With a few more wisps of magic, Urianger pulled Thancred and his beloved to their side of the hole, and the four of them stared down into it. 

It was Thancred who broke the silence. “I… I’m sure there’s an underground stream or it’s just a cavern. By the Twelve,” he laughed. “Y’shtola’s probably already back in Fanow, wondering why we’re taking so long.” Though he tried to sound unconcerned, his voice was strangely shrill and tremulous, as though his excuses to himself were his only bulwark against agonized screams.

As the small group made their way out of the Temple, Urianger’s heart ached - not just for Y’shtola, though he greatly mourned the loss of his friend - but for Thancred and his beloved. The former kept looking around every corner, peering in every doorway, as though at any moment Y’shtola would step out and chide him for taking so long to leave the temple. The latter wept silently, cradling the antidote like it was the most precious thing in her possession.

They exited to find Almet and Cymet waiting for them.

“Almet,” Thancred said sharply, fixing the Viis with his hard gaze. “Please tell me you know if that hole might lead out into the woods somewhere.”

Almet shook her head. “Were there another means of exiting the temple, there is no question we would know of it.” Thancred said nothing, but his fist clenched at his side while Almet continued. “But I fear that is of little consequence, for we have tried to mark the depth of the pit, and failed.” She looked down, her face forlorn. “To fall from such a height…”

The Champion let out an angry sob, and Urianger pulled her close. She buried her face in his chest and cried like a child, her whole torso shaking uncontrollably between strangled wails of grief. Thancred didn’t look at them, but clenched his teeth, as if that might keep his own despair at bay.

“Sister! I come bearing news!” Uimet, the spear-wielding Viis, called out as she ran towards them. They all turned towards her, though Urianger’s beloved merely turned her face to the side and opened one eye, unwilling to leave his embrace.

“The Eulmoran soldiers and the Children have fled Yx’Maja. They abandoned Slitherbough as well, though they yet remain in the swamps near Lakeland.” Uimet lowered her head. “Unfortunately, a number of the Blessed were poisoned while fending off the soldiers. One we believe to be of their order was found lost in Yx’Maja, feverish and badly wounded. He was taken to Fanow for treatment, but I fear there is little we can do for him.” She pursed her lips. “He and the other Blessed will not last long without an antidote.”

Thancred turned to the Champion, his face hard. “Then we must act quickly. If you’ve a spare vial, Minfilia and I can deliver it to the Blessed at Slitherbough. You and Urianger should return to Fanow and tend to the wounded villager there.”

Pulling away from Urianger, the Warrior of Darkness poured out a potion onto the moss and leaves on the ground, then filled the now-empty vial with some of the antidote, giving the larger bottle to Thancred. For a moment, the Elezen appreciated what Thancred had done for them - both giving them a moment of time so that he might tend to her, and giving them a task to pull her away from her grief - though Urianger suspected that bringing the antidote to Slitherbough was his own task, to pull himself away, and give himself some purpose within Y’shtola’s sacrifice.

“What about Y’shtola…?” Minfilia asked, anxiously.

Thancred looked down at the ground, then turned to the girl. “I know it seems callous of us to leave, but she leapt into that hole for a _reason_. We have to save the Blessed,” he said fiercely. “Whatever it takes.”

The girl nodded. “All right,” and the two of them departed at a run.

Almet turned her attention to Urianger and the Champion. “My sisters and I will remain here. We must be certain no soldiers are still lurking about.” The other two Viis nodded their agreement, and they vanished amidst the ruins.

Alone again, Urianger reached out and cupped the side of the hero’s face. “Come, beloved. Let not Y’shtola’s sacrifice be in vain.” She leaned into his touch, and he felt a single tear slip out of her eye, and slide along the curve of his thumb, but she nodded. “To Fanow,” he murmured, before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her, like a child, back to the village while she wept.

Within the Sleepaway Common of Fanow, they found the Blessed unconscious in a hammock. 

“Heavens forfend,” Urianger murmured, setting the woman down and rushing forward. “Runar…” He turned to his beloved who stood by, her face pained. “‘Twas he who forestalled the Eulmorans’ procession. And in so doing, afforded thee time to lay low the Lightwarden.” He motioned to Runar. “Quickly, the antidote.”

She carefully approached Runar’s unconscious form, and dribbled some of the antidote into his mouth. It took three attempts, but Runar finally let out a low groan and seemed to regain some color. She looked to Urianger for guidance.

“It would appear the worst hath passed, though his wounds yet want for mending,” he said, not realizing he hand reached for her until he had a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. He blushed, and let go of it. “I shall minister to him forthwith. Rest, _ma moitié_ , I prithee. I shall attend to Runar’s ministrations.”

His beloved crawled into the hammock on his other side, and exhaustion claimed her quickly.

* * *

Though he bent his magic to healing Runar’s wounds, Urianger would still stop from time to time to turn his gaze to his beloved. Once the Hrothgar was stable, Urianger climbed into the hammock beside her, hoping to just rest his aether a few moments before returning to his casting.

When he awoke, someone had draped a large fur over them both, and he opened one eye to see the elder Viis, Lanille, standing over him with a smile. “Your charge is fine, outsider. You can safely take a little more time with your wife.”

Urianger blushed. “She is not yet my bride, madame, though not for want of trying on my part.” 

Lanille clicked her tongue. “That woman is yours in all the ways that matter. See?” The Viis pointed, and Urianger looked down to see the Champion’s face pressed up against him, or more specifically, the collection of metal stars on a chain he’d taken to wearing. The points dug into her skin, but she seemed undisturbed. “Only a woman who is desperately in love could take comfort in _that_. Now get some sleep, Outsider. I will wake you when I go to bed, and you can resume your care of the Blessed.”

Urianger wanted to argue, but his lover made a soft mewling noise in her sleep, and he held her close for a moment, remembering nothing else.

* * *

Lanille’s gentle touch woke him hours later. “I must find my bed, Outsider. I hope you got some rest?”

He nodded and carefully climbed out of the hammock, tucking the fur back around the Champion. After a thoughtful pause, he unclasped one of his stars and placed it into her hand, which clenched tightly around it, and she pulled it close to her chest, all without waking.

Lanille nodded approvingly and slipped down a set of stairs, while Urianger picked up the threads of healing she had left, and returned to tending to Runar.

After another hour or so, his dearest sat up in the hammock, making it sway softly while she looked down at the star he’d left in her hand. She blushed a little, and pinned it into her hair.

_More gifts,_ Urianger thought to himself. _Thou shalt definitely have to find more gifts with which to shower her, if something as simple as thy clasp wouldst be so dear._ Not for the first time, he wished he were back on the Source. He had a not insignificant sum of gil there, and would have been able to give her nearly anything her heart desired. Here, in the First, he was but an academic, with little to his name save some deals with the pixies. Perhaps he could make more bargains, ask Feo Ul’s help, and they could set some of the Fair Folk to dredging up Voeburtian treasures for her.

The sound of nearby footsteps drew both their attention as Minfilia and Thancred came onto the platform.

Minfilia visibly relaxed upon seeing their patient. “Runar. Thank goodness.”

“We delivered the antidote to Slitherbough,” Thancred announced, “and from what we could gather on the way here, the Eulmorans have had the good manners to withdraw.” He looked down at Runar on the hammock. “Thank the gods they did, or we would never have made it here in time. I’m told we have Runar and his comrades to thank for keeping the soldiers occupied prior to their retreat.”

Urianger looked up a moment, and nodded, then returned to Runar, while Thancred turned his attention to the Champion. “They were preparing to come for you and Y’shtola, it seems, when Runar rallied the villagers and pursued them out of Slitherbough.” Thancred gave the sleeping Hrothgar a weak, but friendly, smile, as though the two of them shared some terrible affliction. 

“I must…” Runar mumbled from the cot. “I-I must…” His eyes opened slowly, and he turned to Urianger. “Where… am I?”

The Astrologian smiled down at his charge. “Yx’Maja, in the care of the Viis. Thou art safe now, friend. Pray, rest thee awhile longer.”

Sitting up, Runar shook his head. “No… no. I am all right. Somewhat heavy of limb, perhaps, but otherwise well, I assure you.” He ran his hand through his thick black hair. He smiled at them all. “I am glad to see you are all safe. When we realized where the soldiers were headed, we knew something had to be done.” He turned his gaze to Thancred, then his brow furrowed. “I… do not see Master Matoya.” Runar looked about anxiously. “She was with you, yes? What happened to her?” The rising tension in his voice made Urianger wince inwardly. He was suddenly very aware of the affliction the Hrothgar shared with Thancred.

The Champion spoke up, her eyes heavy with tears. “She saved the Night’s Blessed - albeit at a cost…” She tried to say more, but the words were strangled before they reached her lips, so she returned to silence.

“Spare me your riddles and speak plain!” Runar snarled. “Where is Master Matoya?”

Urianger watched as his beloved steeled her resolve, and recounted all that had happened. 

When she finished, Runar looked down at his hands, forlorn. “No… No… No, that cannot be…” He looked up at Urianger in confusion. “Why would she do such a thing?” A silence fell across the group again, and Runar’s voice shook with barely restrained tears. “Was there no other way? I… I cannot believe that she… that she…” The Hrothgar’s face hardened, and he locked his gaze on the Champion. “We must begin the search immediately! I will come with you!” Tears welled up in the Warrior of Darkness’s eyes. 

“What are you waiting for? We must find her! She could be trapped or hurt or…” Runar began weeping into his hands. “She is alive. She is _alive_ damn you!” They all kept a respectful silence as Runar wept the tears that had claimed the rest of them the night before.

Another set of footsteps on the stairs preceded the arrival of Almet, who said nervously, “Forgive me for interrupting, but our scouts have apprehended an intruder.” She raised an eyebrow to the Champion. “We thought perhaps he might be an associate of yours…” 

Almet turned, and looked up the stairs to Cymet, who was leading a most unwelcome figure into their midst.

Urianger bristled at the arrival of the Ascian, Emet-Selch, but immediately forced himself into stoic silence. He was _not_ going to fly into a rage of jealousy. He was _not_ going to give the Ascian the _satisfaction_. It would only encourage him. Not that he appeared to need encouraging. Though Cymet and Uimet both smiled at him flirtatiously, he only gave them a dismissive glance before locking his eyes on the hero.

“Oh, look who it is,” Thancred said sarcastically.

“Well…” Emet-Selch said, strolling into the room. “This is embarrassing. In my defense, they are surprisingly tenacious.” He looked about, but Urianger could sense he never let the Champion out of his field of view. “So - what trouble have you gotten yourselves into this time?”

Thancred turned to look at her as well, as if asking her what they should do. Pulling in a shaking breath, she explained - again - what had happened.

“Well, well,” the Ascian looked irritable. Urianger noticed his eyes were fixed not just on the Warrior of Light, but on the star that gleamed in her hair. “What an intriguing turn of events.” He pulled himself up short, and bowed to the object of his pursuit. “My condolences, by the way.” She looked up at him, startled, but Emet-Selch’s face was full of patience and affection, forcing Urianger to grit his teeth. The Ascian paid him no mind, but continued, “‘Tis never easy to lose the ones we love, _uxor_.”

Thancred bristled, and as Emet-Selch pulled his gaze away from the Champion, the familiar maliciousness filled him again. “Well, she is dead, isn’t she?” he said to Thancred. “Wishing it were otherwise will not make it so.”

“That _you_ should be indifferent to her loss is no surprise,” Thancred growled, “But to us, she was a friend. The best of friends.” He glared at the Ascian for a few moments, until Minfilia broke the silence.

“You have something on your mind,” she asked the woman beside her. “What is it?”

“After she fell,” Urianger longed to reach for his beloved as her voice trembled, but he did not, to encourage her to keep speaking. “There was a powerful gust of wind - as if from nowhere.” His breath suddenly stilled at her words. 

“Beloved,” he croaked, carefully. “Pray, recount to us again that which thou witnessed in the ruins, omitting not the slightest detail.” Urianger winced as she sighed wearily. How many times had she had to tell this tale now? Four? Five? He’d lost count. 

After her explanation was finished, Thancred slowly raised his head. “ _Flow_...” The Champion turned in confusion, but Urianger’s eyes widened as he caught on to what Thancred was saying, “The teleportation magic she used to spirit us away from Ul’dah after the bloody banquet! I recall a similar gale in the tunnel before it took effect.”

“Interesting,” the Ascian said, “I thought I sensed a brief disturbance in the Lifestream. How reassuring to know it was not my imagination.”

Everyone stared at him, and after a moment Emet-Selch shrugged. “I felt it only once, I should mention. Which would suggest she is still adrift on its currents.”

Urianger closed his eyes. The Ascian might be a vile enemy, but he could not deny the truth. “Then I fear,” he said, his voice rough, “she may yet be lost to us - for it was only by the grace of the elementals that she was plucked from that great aetherial river.” Tears began to well in his beloved’s eyes.

“Oh… very well,” Emet-Selch sighed. “I’ll go and fetch her…” Everyone turned to him in shock, but his eyes did not leave the Champion. “Perhaps a clear and unambiguous act of kindness will serve to win the trust you seem so determined to deny me, _uxor_.” He smiled ruefully at her. “Are you so adverse to gifts from me that you would deny me the chance to do you this kindness?” She looked at the ground, and the Ascians gaze crossed Urianger’s.

As the two men stared each other down, Urianger had a most unwelcome realization. Emet-Selch’s eyes were pale gold - the color of a winter sun.


	11. Rak'tika Greatwood, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light slays the Lightwarden of Rak'tika, and attends a festival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF! Forget sleep, gonna write fanfic instead.
> 
> I'm really glad everyone's enjoying this story! The next chapter will (hopefully) be intense. I hope you're looking forward to it!

Urianger remembered the way the Champion had described her favorite color, and after Thancred had explained a little more clearly, he assumed that it referred to the color of _his_ eyes. Seeing that this trait was one he shared with the Ascian unnerved him, and he wondered if his opponent’s eyes had always been that shade, or if he had affected it in some attempt to lure her in. Regardless, his attempts appeared to be working.

The Warrior of Darkness exhaled softly, her shoulders slumping in defeat for only a moment before she pulled herself back up again. She moved across the floor with purpose, and Urianger recognized the same determination that had carried her through countless hardships carrying her forward again, unceasingly, to whatever horizon she sought. Knowing her horizon now, the return of her dearest friend, he couldn’t even blame her. 

She stopped before Emet-Selch, and looked up at him. When their eyes met, the same change Urianger had seen in the forest was worked over him. The cruelty and malice fled his face, and he straightened his shoulders. It was as if he became a different man, _A better man_ , Urianger thought to himself, when caught in her gaze. 

“Emet-Selch,” she began, but the Ascian raised a hand to cut her off.

“Please,” he interjected, “That name sounds so formal coming from you, _uxor_. I told you to call me Emet.” His smile was genuine and affectionate, and her cheeks colored.

“Emet,” the Champion corrected herself. “Please give me back my Shtola.” Her voice was pleading, an ilm from outright begging. Urianger tensed - what would the Ascian demand of her, for her friend’s return?

But Emet-Selch merely took her hands in his and bowed, a strange gesture from some culture with which Urianger was not familiar. The Ascian pressed her knuckles against his forehead, then his lips, then his heart. “So have I sworn,” he said, his voice firm and unyielding, “so shall I do.” 

Urianger watched anxiously as the Ascian straightened, then, and turned her hands over in his. “Now then,” he said, playfully. “If I’m to fetch her for you, I will require a suitable place to work. We must find somewhere that resonates strongly with the Lifestream.” Emet-Selch leaned forward, and placed an affection kiss on her forehead. Though Urianger could see she swallowed anxiously, she did not shy from him either. “And by we, I mean you. To that end, I give you this, _uxor_ \- an aetherial lamp of my own design.” Magic sprang up between their clasped hands, twisting and curling in on itself until it solidified into a simple lantern. “Keep it close as you venture out into the woods. The brighter the glow, the stronger the locations resonance with the Lifestream. Once you’ve found a likely spot, all you need do is whistle, and I’ll come running.” 

She nodded, and made to pull away, but the Ascian clutched her hands a little tighter, and his affectionate smile grew into a grin of boyish mischief. “You do know how to whistle, don’t you? Just put your lips together and blow.” He winked and released her, and she headed up the stairs. 

Once she was out of earshot, Emet-Selch’s face lost its feigned innocence and candor. “I would speak to the Elezen. _Alone_.”

“And I would pitch you off the side of Fanow and into the abyss below,” Thancred scoffed. “But it appears neither of us will be getting what we want this day.”

The Ascian opened his mouth to retort, but Urianger shook his head. “Fear not, Thancred. If aught should happen to me, you needs merely tell our dear Champion, and she will have words with him about it. Possibly swords as well.”

Thancred scowled. “I don’t like it.”

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes. “No one’s asking you to like it - just to leave.”

Minfilia grabbed Thancred’s hand. “Come on, let’s go see if she needs any help.” 

Runar scrambled out of his hammock, still wincing from his injuries. “I-I’m coming too. We must save Master Matoya.”

Finally, Thancred allowed himself to be led away, but he gave Urianger a stern look as he did so. The Viis also headed up the stairs, leaving them alone at last.

Urianger crossed his arms as the Ascian regarded him in silence for a moment. He had requested this meeting, so he could be the first to speak - and speak he did.

“I have to admit, Elezen, I pity you.”

Urianger rolled his eyes. “Save thy _compassion_ , Ascian. Thou hast so little of it, after all.”

“No, really, I do,” Emet-Selch crossed his own arms. “I’ve heard it’s terrible to be in love with someone you cannot keep.”

He did not rise to the bait, but merely waited for his opponent to continue. The Ascian sneered irritably after a moment, then continued. “Listen, Urianger, was it? I don’t mind. I really don’t. Feel free to make her whatever promises you like, engage in whatever little sexual escapades your limited imagination can devise. Enjoy her, with my compliments.”

Urianger swallowed hard, and dug his fingernails into his arms, trying to keep his tone level. “She is not thine to give permission to others to…” he drew in a ragged breath, “to _use_ her.”

“Oh, but she is,” Emet-Selch said, his smile widening. “She is mine, and I am hers. She is my _uxor_ , and I am her _vir_. And as inevitably as the tide, she always returns to me.”

“By what right?” Urianger shouted. He could feel his anger slipping out of his control, but he didn’t care. “By what right dost thou claim her, knave?”

The Ascian smiled, and a high pitched whistle pierced the air. “Why don’t you ask Y’shtola?” With a laugh, he turned and headed up the stairs.

* * *

The Warrior of Light and Darkness stood amongst the azure flowers, holding aloft the lantern Emet-Selch had given her, shining fit to banish the shadows from beneath the bows of Rak’tika, when they approached. 

Urianger offered her a soft smile, and she relaxed, only to tense again when the Ascian smiled to her as well. “Yes,” he said, seemingly unperturbed by her unease, “this place should serve well enough.” He looked down at her, and smiled teasingly. “Might I have a little space?” Emet-Selch leaned closer to her, and nudged her suggestively. “I _need_ to concentrate.” 

She backed away a few steps, the lantern dimming as she did, but she kept her steely gaze on the Ascian.

“Now then…” he said, looking around himself. “What color was her soul again?” Emet-Selch closed is eyes and lifted a hand, pointing into the distance as the air around them began to stir with aetherial energy. “Ah…” He opened his eyes. “There you are.” With a snap, the aether coalesced into Y’shtola, floating in the air before them.

The champion gave a sharp intake of breath, and Runar cried out, “He-He’s done it! He’s brought her back!”

With a second snap, she was clothed again, and collapsed on the ground. Without hesitation, they ran forward, and Thancred fell to one knee beside her. “Y’shtola, are you all right?”

The Miqo’te woman opened her eyes with a groan and sat up. “Yes... “ She looked up at Thancred. “Though I cannot imagine how. What happened?”

Urianger swallowed nervously. “Thou didst invoke the power of _Flow_ , which thence did usher thy soul unto the Livestream.”

She blinked slowly. “I wanted to save the antidote, and after that…” She suddenly giggled. “I did something exceedingly reckless. For which you will just have to forgive me.”

Y’shtola looked past Thancred to the Champion, and smiled, though Urianger saw her brow furrow with unease. She opened her mouth to say something, but Runar ran forward and lifted her in his arms, bouncing her in delight. “Master Matoya! Oh thank the heavens you’re all right.” They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then he continued, his voice breaking. “I had nearly given up hope.”

The Hrothgar looked away, blushing, but Y’shtola gave him an affectionate smile. “Please, Runar, dry your tears. What would the others think if they saw you like this?” He looked at her in surprise, and she laughed. “Come now - did you really think I would go gently into that dark night with so much left undone? So many mysteries left unsolved?” 

Urianger glanced over to Thancred, but the man’s face was an impassive mask he usually saved for card games at the Gold Saucer.

Runar set Y’shtola down gently, and Emet-Selch coughed. “Ahem. Is there aught you wish to say to me? A word of _thanks_ , perhaps?”

Y’shtola turned and stared at him, and Urianger said, “Emet-Selch, the Ascian of whom I spoke. ‘Twas he who plucked thee from the Lifestream.”

“I see.” Y’shtola’s face revealed little, which was in itself revealing. The Miqo’te often wore her feelings on her sleeve, and thus would only shutter them when things were truly upsetting. She glanced momentarily at the Champion, then back to Emet-Selch. “Thank you. Differences notwithstanding, you saved my life, and for that I am grateful.”

The Ascian shrugged, and Y’shtola turned her attention to her dear friend again. “But let us turn our attention to more important matters, such as the Qitana Ravel.” She smiled warmly, again, placing a hand to her chest. “You had better not have explored its depths without me.”

The hero laughed weakly. “I wouldn’t have known where to start.” The two women smiled at each other for a moment, in silence.

Thancred cut in, his voice like a razor. “Well, Almet and the others should be pleased to see you in such _uncharacteristically_ high spirits.” When Y’shtola’s eyes left the Champion and turned to Thancred, Urianger saw the concern and worry flood them again. “Let us return to Fanow, then, and discuss the coming expedition.” 

Thancred and Minfilia lead the way with Runar, but Y’shtola made a short gesture with her hand, and Urianger moved to her side. They walked much more slowly than the others, and Y’shtola clutched his arm. “Urianger, we have a problem.”

“What troubles thee?” His heart grew heavy. The Ascian had told him to ask Y’shtola, but the woman seemed more than willing to tell him whatever was on her mind.

“Are you telling me you don’t see it? Have you even _looked_ at them?”

Urianger felt his breath becoming shallow. Whatever Y’shtola was telling him, he knew he would not like. She stopped, and turned him to face the way they’d come, where Emet-Selch and the Champion were speaking quietly to each other. 

“Look at them, Urianger,” Y’shtola said behind his back, her voice trembling. “Look at them with _my_ eyes, and tell me what you see.”

Anxiety twisted through his chest as Urianger opened his sight to the aetherial. 

The soul, of course, is made up of aether. A concentrated matrix of aether serving as the _core_ around which other aether gathers, giving it mortal form. The colors of the Soul may change, depending on which elements hold sway, but they generally all take the same form. The few previous times Urianger had viewed an Ascians soul, they looked much like Emet-Selch’s - a dizzyingly complex arrangement of aether much more intricate than most mortal souls, composed of dark aether that seemed to suck in the light of the world around it. Beside him, the Champion stood, her soul a simple bright blossom, holding strong against the dark the Ascian carried with him.

What tore Urianger up inside, and made Y’shtola tremble behind them, were the tethers. Eight aetherial tethers tied his beloved’s core to the Ascian’s, though he could see another six trailing off from him into parts unknown. 

“Urianger,” Y’shtola whispered, “I… don’t know what to do. Our friend… she… she’s _bound_ to an Ascian.”

“You were going to lose her anyway,” Moenbryda’s voice murmured in his ear, “Isn’t it better this way? Now you don’t have to pine.”

Urianger snapped his head to the side, hoping to retort to the phantasm, but found nothing there. He turned his gaze back to his beloved, then forced the aetherial sight away.

“Thou hast said thyself,” Urianger growled to Y’shtola, “she can free herself from a _binding_ if she should wish it so. I believe thee. Ergo, I shall endeavor to make her wish for it.”

Emet-Selch glanced over at him, and smiled darkly. The Ascian held out an arm to the Champion, who took it anxiously, and he lead her towards Fanow, a triumphant smile on his face.

* * *

The descent into the Qitana Ravel was Arduous. Thancred insisted on leaving Minfilia with the Viis, and so he, Y’shtola, the Champion, and Urianger plumbed its cavernous depths together. Though the Elezen had expected a pall to hang over them, for each had found something to be displeased with in the recent past, they soon found themselves swept up in the adventure.

Thancred’s gunblade drew even the most fearsome foes away from the rest of them, while Y’shtola’s magic brought the elements to bear against any that threatened them. Through it all, Urianger’s beloved wove herself, each twirl of her hips accompanied by a chakram thrown with unerring accuracy. And so he followed, a silent guardian, calling down the stars to harm or heal as the situation demanded, ever keeping a watchful eye upon his friends. 

As the Lightwarden fell, they stopped. None of them had actually seen the Champion absorb the Light-corrupted aether before, and so they stood in silence watching what would happen. Urianger’s aetherial sight told him Y’shtola, and G’raha Tia, were right. The corrupted essence flowed into the Warrior of Darkness, and her soul began to shine a little brighter. The slim piece of Aetheryte he wore beneath his robes hummed for a moment, then went still. 

They all looked to the sky, and watched as the unnatural light evaporated, revealing and expanse of stars.

“The Lightwarden is dead,” Minfilia said, her eyes fixed on the sky. “The Blessed’s prayers have been answered.”

“Aye, that they have,” Thancred replied in smug satisfaction.

Urianger saw that Y’shtola continued to stare at the Warrior of Darkness before them. “Her condition yet troubleth thee?” He asked her.

“It does,” she replied, not taking her gaze from her friend. “Though she shows no immediate signs of corruption, the danger remains. She must be told.” Y’shtola peeled her eyes from the Champion and turned to Urianger. “She must be told _everything_.”

Urianger nodded, but said nothing, and so Y’shtola looked up toward the sky, and continued. “Would you describe it to me, Urianger? Paint for me a picture with your words.”

He smiled warmly to the Miqo’te. Though they did not always agree, she, too, was one who shared a path with he and his beloved. He turned his gaze to the sky. “A sea of shimmering stars. Diamonds strewn across a raven gown, boundless and beautiful. ‘Tis an exquisite sight, not unlike that of the Source. Calm and gentle…” Urianger looked down, and swallowed hard, looking to his beloved, “... and forgiving.” He could only hope she would be, as well.

“I can see it…” Y’shtola murmured.

Urianger nodded. “For however deep the void, or wide the expanse, there is no shore so distant as to be beyond the reach of light… Ominous though that may sound, given our present travails.”

Y’shtola grinned and patted his lower back affectionately, before approaching the Champion. “Well fought. Let us return home.”

As they proceeded through the caves to find their way back, they came across a series of strange murals. “The murals…” Y’shtola said, stopping to look.“If I am not mistaken, they predate the empire.”

“How can you tell?” Minfilia asked.

“A peculiarity of the paint,” Y’shtola said, “most are made from mineral based pigments, but whatever was used here is older than anything I have ever seen.” Y’shtola looked down at the ground, her brow furrowed as if contemplating a riddle. “According to Almet, this sanctuary was built to preserve the wisdom of the ancients. What events do these murals commemorate, I wonder?”

“Must you always linger after defeating your enemies?” Emet-Selch called out, and they turned to find him heading towards them from the shadows. “Navigating these halls on foot is exhausting.”

Thancred snorted. “Come to lead us to safety, have you?”

“I was _bored_ ,” the Ascian whined, then turned a wide smile to the woman they all knew he’d come to see. “But how is the hero of the hour?” He approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking over her body. She stood still and looked away, color filling her cheeks as he examined her. “Hmm, fighting fit, I see.” He kissed her cheek. “Keep up the good work.”

“You’re plotting something,” Y’shtola said, crossing her arms.

Emet-Selch did not take his eyes from the Champion when he answered. “Every hour of every day. But never you mind about that. As I have told you a thousand times before…” His gaze slid from the Champion to Urianger, and his flashed cruel, predatory even. “I like to watch. Nothing more.” He dragged one thumb slowly over her bare shoulder before he continued. “Well! I would quit this place, and I suggest you do the same. There is yet work to be done.” 

The Ascian turned to go, releasing his _uxor_ , and turned to look at the murals. “Ah… there is a sight to bring a tear to the eye.”

Minfilia stepped forward. “You recognize these scenes?”

Emet-Selch turned back to the Champion, a look of anguish on his face as he regarded her. Though he was answering the child’s question, his eyes never left the woman before him. “That I do. Indeed, there was a time when anyone and everyone would.” He held out one hand to the hero, and she took it. He pulled her close to him, and wrapped his arms around her. Though she did not fight, Urianger could see the tension in her.

“Until one calamitous day when the world was divided across ten and three reflections, sundering the land and all who dwelled upon it.” The Ascian’s voice was thick with restrained tears. “And the worst part? No one could remember it. Not really. Just fragments, and fleeting memories of an achingly familiar world.” He looked down at the woman in his arms, his eyes searching her face, desperate to find _something_ though Urianger knew not what. He sighed, not finding what he sought, but clutched her tighter all the same. “A vision shared of a paradise lost, preserved only in song and scripture and paint…” Emet-Selch buried his face in the Champion’s hair. “Once upon a time…”

The Ascian stepped back from her, but kept her hands in his, still staring at the murals. “Yet here we find ourselves again. To look, learn, and remember…” His gaze returned to the woman before him, and he said, barely more than a whisper, “I have sworn it before, and I swear it again, _uxor_. I will see you whole once more.”

“Then share with us the stories you know so well,” Y’shtola called out, her eyes fixed on the Ascian. “We are listening.”

Emet-Selch wrapped his arm about his companion, and pointed to the first mural. “Before the great sundering, there was one world…”

When his explanation was finished, Thancred furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry - I can only assume I misheard, but it sounded an awful lot like you were implying both Zodiark and Hydaelyn are not gods, but -”

“What?” Emet-Selch looked away from the murals in confusion towards Thancred. “Not gods of the First? Is that what you thought these paintings depicted? Or…?” He looked down at the Champion for confirmation. “Oh! Ohhh...”

“They are gods after a fashion, yes, but no different from the kind with which you are so intimately acquainted. Formed of faith and prayer, of conviction and devotion.” The Ascian cupped the woman’s face in his hand, and said, “The eldest and most powerful of primals.”

Urianger watched his beloved take a step back from Emet-Selch, and Y’shtola’s voice quavered as she said, “You have spun _quite_ a tale.” The Miqo’te composed herself, and continued. “Yet you have not explained the role of the Ascians in all of this. How is it you are privy to ancient secrets lost to time?”

Emet-Selch laughed and kissed the Champion, never taking his eyes off her. “Finally. _Finally_ , you ask the right question! And shrewd questions warrant honest answers…” When he continued, it was directed at the woman in his arms. “We Ascians,” he said this, including the Warrior of Light, “know because it is _our_ history. Our story.” He cupped her face in his hands as she stood before him frozen, paralyzed by confusion and tension. “It was we who summoned Zodiark - we natives of that sundered paradise.” 

The Ascian seemed unaware of the Champion’s discomfort. “Now do you see why we yearn for the Great Rejoining?” He pressed his forehead to hers. “For our world, _uxor_. For our people… for all creation to be made whole again. Wouldn’t you wish for the same?”

She remained silent, staring up at Emet-Selch in confusion, but he sighed wistfully, and kissed her again. Though she did not pull away, Urianger could see his beloved’s hands clench into fists at her sides.

* * *

After they left Fanow, strolling down the azure flower path, Urianger fell into step beside his beloved. “Art thou unharmed? Thou didst appear to be quite uncomfortable with his familiarity.”

She swallowed. “I was. But…” Her eyes flicked up to Y’shtola, ahead of them. “All he asked was that I not reject his advances outright, that I give him the chance to show he means me no lasting harm.”

“Dost thou believe him, my love?”

“Yes and no,” she replied, sighing wistfully. “I believe that he believes he will do me no harm, but I also believe that he and I have _vastly_ different definitions of ‘harm’.”

They continued in silence for a time, before she said, anxiety in her voice, “Urianger, I…”

He placed his hand over hers, in comfort. “I am not cross with thee, _ma moitié_. The Ascian has thee in a position most untenable, and thou art merely trying to navigate his dark waters as best thou mayest, without bringing harm to those thou holdest most dear.”

She nodded. “Not being angry with me does not preclude you no longer…” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “... does not preclude you no longer wanting me beside you.”

Urianger pulled her to a stop, just outside Slitherbough, in the same place she had asked him to make love to her. “Beloved,” he whispered, and let his hand brush down the side of her face. “No amount of desire on his part is going to change the desire within me. Mayhaps we will not always see eye to eye, but my heart has chosen thee. An it chooseth thee every moment of every day, with every breath I take. As I told Y’shtola - if he truly seeks to compete with me for thy hand, then I welcome the challenge. Let him rave about his shattered paradise,” Urianger bent, and kissed her softly. “I have found mine right here.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but something landed amidst the flowers near them with a soft ‘thump’. They looked, and spied a small rock, before following the path it must of taken to see Y’shtola bouncing another in her palm. “You could at least wait to have your intense confessions until the rest of us have arrived somewhere we can _sit_ ,” the Miqo’te called, and Minfilia giggled behind her hand.

“To Slitherbough,” Urianger’s beloved sighed, linking her arm with his.

“And the festival,” he added, grinning wickedly.

She looked up at him, and her face flushed, but she returned his smile with one of her own. “And the festival.”

* * *

Runar was waiting for them just inside Slitherbough. “Ah, you are returned! And none the worse for wear, I see.”

“You needn’t worry about us,” Y’shtola said, looking around. “What became of the Eulmoran soldiers, more importantly?”

Runar smiled. “They turned tail and fled at the sight of the night sky. The Children of the Everlasting Dark have also retreated back to Woven Oath.” The Hrothgar looked up at the sky. “Try as they might, they could not deny the truth of their own eyes.” He bowed his head in prayer, and Urianger tried not to scoff. “The sunless sea of heaven, full of love and grace, where none need know pain or suffering.” He looked up again, his voice impassioned, “In that moment, when the sky’s light began to wane, I knew our prayers had been answered. That we were doomed to face oblivion at life’s end no longer.”

The Hrothgar turned to the Champion at Urianger’s side. “When first we met, I harbored certain suspicions about you. Now I see that I was right.” He took in the group of them. “You are the Bringers of Shadow. The Warriors of Darkness. The saviors for whom we have prayed for so long.”

Y’shtola smiled. “I suppose you’re not _entirely_ wrong.” She shook her head. “But we are not worthy of your reverence, nor have we any desire to be worshipped. If you would pray, pray for your children, that they may one day know a better world.”

Runar bowed his head. “I will do as you say, but please, let us at least hold a feast to celebrate your victory. You deserve that much.”

Urianger tried not to grin like a simpering idiot as his beloved’s hand tightened on his arm. 

“I’m sorry, Runar,” Y’shtola began, “but there is still much to be done, and -”

“We would love to.” The Champion’s voice cut through Y’shtola’s words like a sword, and the two women looked at each other for a moment. 

Finally, Y’shtola bowed her head, a mischievous smirk on her face, as she gave way to her dear friend. “Very well. We will stay until morning. But we will leave at first light.”

Runar’s face brightened. “O-Of course.” The Hrothgar turned on his heel, and began shouting for preparations, while Y’shtola turned to face the Champion.

“You owe me,” was all she said, before going to assist.

* * *

The festival was simple by most standards - but food, dancing, and company were all to be had in plenty, so Urianger could not argue that it was not a success. They made a great bonfire just outside Slitherbough, and everyone took turns dancing around it, their hearts light and glad at the return of the night.

He smiled warmly at the sight of his beloved, dancing with the others, her face flushed and giddy as Y’shtola dragged her into the circle. 

A few of the Viis attended as well, under Lanille’s watchful gaze. While they had not yet decided for certain if they would open themselves to outsiders, the Elder Viis felt that better cooperation with the people of Slitherbough was in everyone’s best interest. She came now, to Urianger’s side, and watched the dancing with him.

“I am not familiar with the customs among the short-lived races… but if memory serves… she _is_ a little young for you, yes?” Lanille asked, smirking at him.

Urianger blushed. “That is up to interpretation.”

The Viis raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain.

He sighed. “Though she was only seven years my junior when I departed our homeland, some complicated magical interference, that would take weeks to explain, interfered, and I have aged an additional eight years that she has not.”

“That’s not so bad,” The Viis waved her hand dismissively. “My lover is nearly fifty years younger than I. It’s good for the wild ones to have a calming influence.” The two of them watched as the dancers moved on to some sort of game, leaping through the bonfire to prove their bravery. He watched as his dearest one vaulted through the flames, and came out the other side, the star pinned into her hair catching the firelight. “... And you certainly have a wild one.” Lanille giggled to herself. “Go on, go dance with her. She will only be young and foolish once, and you both should enjoy it.”

Urianger blushed, and went to argue, but Lanille just shook her head, and walked away. He remained paralyzed for a few minutes, until he felt a hard thump on his back. He turned to find Runar standing beside him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I am going to ask Master Matoya to dance. Do me the favor of distracting her friend? I am nervous enough as it is, but facing the two of them is a challenge I do not know if I can bear.”

“None of us can,” Thancred agreed, coming up on Runar’s other side. “But I’m going to risk it and ask her to dance first, Runar, so you’d best summon your courage.” 

The two men began the strangest race toward the fire, both attempting to arrive first, without Y’shtola noticing they were heading for her. Urianger, meanwhile, approached his beloved anxiously. He did not know any popular dances, just formal steps from his childhood, but somehow, he knew he must do this. 

Just as he did not know how to swim, but had been willing to dive into Longmirror Lake for her, regardless, now did he realize, this is what his future with her would be - rushing headlong into situations he was not prepared for, and hoping for the best. Despite himself, the thought filled him with hope.

“ _Minette_ ,” Urianger said, coming to stand behind her. She turned to face him, and her giddy smile grew wider. 

“Urianger?” she asked, ignoring Thancred and Runar both interrupting each other trying to ask Y’shtola to dance.

He bowed, and extended a hand. “Might I have this dance, my lady?”

She blushed, and he saw the pink vanish below the neckline of her bodice, but she took his hand and said, “I’d love to.”

The musicians, for their part, recognized that people were beginning to pair up, and changed to a slower beat, with their simple instruments providing a more delicate accompaniment. Once he’d found the beat, Urianger pulled her closer, and began to waltz.

He felt a fool, but it was the only dance he knew that worked with the beat the musicians provided, and he went to confess as much to the woman in his arms, when it occurred to him that they had not yet tripped over each other’s feet, and he looked down to find her smiling up at him, waltzing just as easily.

“Thou art familiar with the waltz, my lady?”

She nodded, though in her eyes he found a flicker of sadness. “Haurchefant taught me.” 

Urianger had heard of the Elezen, and how he had taken a mortal blow to save the woman now in Urianger’s arms. “He appears to have been a most excellent teacher.”

They danced together in silence, and he found he enjoyed it more than he remembered. She was close enough to touch, but not so close that he might find himself addled like _whatever_ Thancred and Y’shtola were doing on the other side of the bonfire, and when he lifted her in his arms, it felt right - all the pieces of his life, coming together in this one moment. His childhood among the Elezen teaching him love and courtship and dancing, his time studying in Sharlayan granting him the education he would need to be of use to the Scions, his adventures among the Scions, granting him the strength he would need to follow her, and the bravery to walk that road. And now here they were, a world away, but as she twirled in his arms, he knew that he was home.

* * *

As the festival began to wind down, Urianger swallowed nervously. His beloved had slipped away to talk to Y’shtola, and he began to wonder if she had lost her nerve. Not that he would blame her, of course. The last two days had been difficult, to say the least, and she owed him nothing. But at last, he spotted her.

She was on the far side of the fire, murmuring something to Y’shtola. The Miqo’te stepped back in surprise, but her smile widened, and she patted her friend’s head before stepping away from her to head into Slitherbough. A few moments later, she returned and pressed something into the Champion’s hand. The two women both looked at it for a moment, while Y’shtola was speaking. 

Thancred began walking toward Y’shtola, but his eyes landed on the vial and he turned to Urianger, giving him a wink before giving the ladies space.

After Y’shtola finished whatever she was saying, Urianger watched his beloved open the item, which appeared to be a small vial, and swallow the contents. After the last drops passed her lips, Y’shtola took the vial from her, and made a shooing motion with her hand. He was forced to look away quickly lest he be caught staring when his beloved turned to him, and began making her way over.

Sadly, when she arrived, his curiosity got the better of him. “What was that strange elixir Lady Y'shtola hath given thee?”

She smiled softly, and brushed one hand dismissively over her stomach. “A precaution.”

His face instantly flushed. “O-Oh,” was all he could stammer out.

“Urianger,” his beloved asked, and he stared down at her, a riot in his chest, “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

He nodded, mutely, and she took his hand, leading him out of the firelight and into the shadowy forest beyond.


	12. Rak'tika Greatwood (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit. You have been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Gonna have to go be alone with my significant other for a while now. Might write another chapter later.

The moon, little more than a wisp of a crescent, hung low in the horizon, casting an eerie stillness over the forest as Urianger and his beloved retreated from the firelight of Slitherbough, as if the whole world was holding its breath. 

Urianger certainly was. The day before, his beloved had asked him to make love to her after the festival. Now, the festival was finished, they were alone, and she was leading him into the darkness of this ancient forest. Though when it came to sex, he was the more experienced of the two, he found himself anxious and unsure, afraid of spoiling whatever wellspring of confidence had brought her this far.

Just south of Fort Gohn, she slipped off the path, heading east. As the followed the curve of the forest’s edge, she stopped before a large tree, then disappeared between its roots. Urianger built up his nerve, and followed.

The space between the roots was larger than he’d expected, though still cramped, but with a thick padding of moss along the ground, adding a surprising amount of cushion. He wondered when she’d had time to find the place, but decided not to argue against providence and focus on the woman beside him. She twisted the end of one strand of hair around her finger, and he smiled to himself, reminded of the first time they’d shared a bed, in Il Mheg. She had been to anxious then, and now she was again. Urianger realized he’d have to take the lead, but at least when they were alone, he didn’t mind at all.

For a moment he considered all the devious things he wanted to do with her, all the things he _could_ do, but he brushed them aside. Unless something had happened with the Ascian of which he was unaware, tonight was her first time, and it was certainly their first time together regardless. Before he pushed her to the limits of what they could have together, he needed her to know how good it could be when it was just the two of them, just for love.

He reached out, and placed his hand over hers, a more confident performance of the same motion for which Il Mheg was merely a rehearsal. She lifted her gaze from their hands to his eyes, and he smiled warmly at her, lifting her hand to his lips. “May I?”

She nodded, the action barely visible in what little shafts of dim moonlight pierced the gaps in the roots, and he began to place gentle, meticulous kisses on all the knuckles of her hand, before turning it over, and letting his tongue flick over the inside of her wrist. His mouth twitched a momentary grin at the sharp gasp she gave in response, but he did not stir from working his way down her arm, pausing to nibble gently at the inner curve of her elbow before moving his way up past her shoulder to the edge of her bodice. Once he’d reached it, he turned to her face, and caught her lips with his own.

While he kissed her, he slid his hands down her torso, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of her ribcage expanding and contracting beneath his hands with each gasping breath. Once he was sure her initial anxiety had passed, he dragged his lips from her mouth, kissing his way over her chin and down her neck. “I beg thee, beloved, what is thy desire?” He tugged gently at the laces of her bodice - not untying them, yet, but alerting her to his eagerness to do so. 

She said nothing for a moment, then grumbled. “I-I thought I said before, I want you to make love to me.”

“Yes,” he laughed softly, and left a handful of delicate kisses on her cheek, “but I wish to know how thou wouldst prefer I make love to thee. I know, for instance, that for some, their first time can be… uncomfortable. For that reason, many prefer it be quick, to face the discomfort and move past it. Others prefer to take their time, easing into it. I do not wish to prolong any discomfort thou mayest feel, yet I do not wish to rush thee. Ergo, I ask - what wouldst thou have of me?”

His beloved tilted her head in thought, so he returned to kissing her neck softly, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. “Let’s s-start slow…” she stammered. “For the foreplay, I mean. Then fast when it’s time for the pain.” Though in the dim light he could not see the blush, he could feel the heat in her cheek where it was pressed against his forehead. He nodded once, then captured her mouth again while his fingers made quick work of the lacings. 

As he peeled the bodice away from her, she reached for her skirts, but he brushed her hands aside. “No, my lady,” he murmured, leaning down to plant a kiss between her breasts, “Thou has asked for _me_ to make love to _thee_ , and I have given my most sacred vow that I will. Thou shalt not make me a liar this night.”

“You already are,” Moenbryda’s voice whispered from the darkness, but he banished it with a flick of irritation. He had been yearning for this too long to let old ghosts spoil it for him.

He felt his lover’s fingers in his hair again and he smiled, dragging his fingers down her sides to the tiny laces that held her skirt in place at each hip. _Twelve_ , he thought to himself, _this woman wilt torture me with ties and strings and lacings. Hast she ne’er heard of a zipper?_ , but he chuckled as he kissed his way down her stomach at his own impatience. The lacings on her skirt came free easily enough, and he slipped the front down just far enough that he could nibble the crevice where her thigh met her pelvis.

She gasped and lifted her hips, and he had a small moment of self-congratulation as he whisked the skirt off. His studies of her body and her reactions were sound, so far. Now she lay before him on the moss, wearing only a pair of shoes with more _damnable_ lacings going all the way up her thighs. For a moment he considered leaving them on her, and had a shiver of delight at the image of riding her while the rest of her body was twisted in straps as well, but he had to firmly set it aside. There would be time for all of that later.

Deliberately, he leaned down to the place where the lacings were tied at the top of her thigh, and caught the end in his teeth, tugging gently. She cooed and arched her back as they came loose, and he pushed it off with ease, before repeating the same on the other side. 

“I want to see thee, _minette_ ,” he whispered, leaning back and shucking his robe as quickly as he could. “Prithee, allow me but a small light.”

“Of course, Urianger,” his name left her lips a purr, and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. He was playing with fire, he knew, but he didn’t particularly care. The First, the Source? They could sort themselves out. At least until dawn, he resolved to not think on anything beyond this small hollow between the roots of the tree.

He rocked himself back into a kneeling position between her legs, and stretched upward, letting his fingers stroke the place where the roots came together to form the trunk of the tree over their heads. His aether stirred, and four thin lines of light followed the path his fingertips had made, granting little more illumination than a single candle - but it was enough to see her.

His eyes landed on her face, and he watched with primal satisfaction as her eyes traveled over his body, and a little huff of desire left her, only to be stilled as she bit her lip. Her eyes finally met his, and the _hunger_ he found there drove him back to her arms.

Urianger leaned over his beloved, his tongue exploring her mouth, silencing her tiny moans and murmurs while her hands roved over his chest and back. When her fingers started trailing down towards his cock, he broke the kiss, pulling back a bit. “Not yet. There is still much to do first, minx,” he laughed softly at her disappointed pout, but lowered his mouth to her breast, flicking the nipple with his tongue, and eliciting another sharp gasp.

For a time he focused on her breasts, exploring them with his hands and mouth, and secretly delighted at how they were becoming familiar enough to him that he could tell what she would like, and what she would not, when he touched her. He yearned for that distant future when he could bring her to climax with the speed and precision that only devoted practice could provide - and he yearned for all the practice beside.

When her quiet whimpers and mews became frustrated groans, he slid one of his hands to her sex, pleased to find her wet. She lifted her hips and murmured as he used his thumb and middle finger to spread her labia open, and drew tiny shapes around her clit with his index finger. As a shiver passed through her, she shook her head. “Urianger, I don’t want your hands, I want your -”

“I know what thou wouldst have, my lady,” he interrupted, chuckling at her, “But since I will be moving rather quickly once I feel thou art properly prepared, I am going to take my time preparing thee. Especially as I refuse,” he felt her hips begin to quiver at the way he toyed with her, so he pulled his hand away, resting it on her knee until the quivering died down, “to deny myself mine own desiring of thee in the process.”

Her breasts rose and fell quickly, as she stared him down in frustration. “And what is it _you_ are desiring?” 

He slid his hand down the inside of her thigh, “Thee,” he murmured, then slipped his hand around her leg to her hip, and began moving it up her side, “orgasming around my shaft,” his hand moved along the swell of her breast, then up over her collarbone, along her neck, and over her chin, “whilst my name echoes off thy lips.” He caught her lower lip with his thumbnail and pulled her mouth open, slipping his finger inside so she could taste herself on his skin. 

She sucked on his finger for a moment, gazing at him through half-lidded eyes and he groaned. “Beloved, I will not last if thy teasing continues unabated.” He pulled his finger from her mouth when she nipped it softly, and he began sliding his hand back to her trembling thighs.

“ _My_ teasing?” She asked incredulously. “Urianger, you are insufferable.” She let her head drop back in frustration, looking away from him. A wicked idea occurred to him, and he shifted slightly, moving into position, while his hand continued it’s slow descent. 

“Art thou sure thou wisheth no more of mine attentions,” he crooned, teasingly, as he brought his hand to her clitoris again and began toying with her in the same manner as before. While he did so, he let his ring finger find her opening, and carefully lined himself up with her. 

“Urianger,” she whimpered in frustration, “how many times do I have to say it? I want you to _fuck_ me.” 

“Very well,” he giggled, completely unable to keep the excitement from his voice as he sheathed himself inside her in a single, quick thrust, his hand still pinned between them against her clit.

Her whole body shuddered at the welcome invasion, and she turned her gaze back to him, even as her ankles crossed behind his back, pulling him closer. Urianger had no need for further invitation - he began to stroke around her clit, following the paths he’d already learned in Il Mheg and Fort Jobb, while his other hand scrabbled for purchase as he pushed his weight off of his knees and onto her.

The sudden shift plunged him deeper and her hips rolled slightly with the changing weight. “Urianger…” She gasped, and slid her arms over his shoulders.

“Art thou all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse with desire. He wanted nothing more than to start riding her in earnest, but he had to make sure she was comfortable before he did, despite the way her vagina squeezed him every time he looped past her clitoris.

“More,” she said, her tone demanding as she pulled him down to her, “I want more, Urianger.”

He laughed into her mouth as their lips met. “Brat,” was the last word he uttered for some time.

It did not take either of them long, once he began thrusting in time with the strokes of his fingers. Her body quivered and tightened, that same twisting she’d done around his fingers being just as delicious as he’d imagined it might be wrapped around his cock. When her body began moving erratically, all he had to do was hold on and keep stroking, and soon enough she finished, his name pouring out of her on a wave of expletives. His own pleasure came a few moments later, at the sight of her, panting, sweating, and spent beneath him, and all he could do to keep from alerting the whole damnable forest to their location was sink his teeth into the skin of her neck as he emptied himself inside her.

When the haze of lust cleared from his mind, he slipped out of her, soft again, and began checking her over. “Did I hurt thee?” he asked, anxiously. The bruise from where he bit her was already purpling on her neck, and he knew none of the others would let him live that down if they saw it.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, but she raised a hand to stop him when he went to heal her bruise. “Don’t.”

Urianger frowned. “Why not, beloved?”

She blushed, and looked askance. “I want to keep it. So every time I see it…” She trailed off a moment, then looked at him soberly. “So every time I see it I am reminded of _right_ it felt to have you inside me.”

He could not, and thus did not bother to, restrain his grin. “If thou so wish it.” 

“I do,” she said sternly. “Did you enjoy it?”

Urianger nodded. “More than I had even hoped, _ma moitié_ ,” he whispered into her skin as he levered himself off of her, and into the moss beside her. She curled into his arms reflexively, and he held her close.

They spent a long time in silence, and he stared up at the four thin lines illuminating their small haven. He thought on everything that had happened in the last week, and rubbed his face with his hand.

“Beloved?” he asked the woman beside him.

“Yes?” she replied, brushing the tip of her nose along his jaw, nuzzling him softly.

“Once this is through…” his voice became unexpectedly hoarse. “Once we have saved the First… a-and thee…”

Urianger thought again on the Ascian, and the _Binding_ , and swallowed nervously. He knew that he was setting himself upon a dangerous road.

“Once we have prevented the Calamity, and brought peace to the First, I will ask thee a question. Quite possibly the most important question of my life.” He swallowed again. “I wouldst ask thee to begin thinking upon thy answer, so that thou wilt be prepared when the time comes.”

She paused a moment, her breath catching in her throat, but finally nodded. “I will give it careful consideration, Urianger,” she whispered. 

He nodded sharply and clutched her in his arms.


	13. Rak'tika Greatwood, Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light learns the truth of what is happening to her. Urianger realizes a truth of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slightly shorter transition chapter before we move into the next part of the main story. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to hassle me in game look for Sadayo Kiyohara on Coeurl. I'm always looking for more friends to run with (my FC is very small, just me and a few others i know IRL).

Urianger had his beloved again in the morning, just after waking - soft and dreamlike as dawn broke somewhere outside of their little hollow. He only saw the sun himself when he looked up through a gap in the canopy on their way back to Slitherbough. Y’shtola had said they’d be leaving at first light, but that was certainly out of the question now, and he found he cared little for whatever irritation the Miqo’te might have with them. Even should she call down the heavens and smite him to ash, it was worth it.

Of course, she didn’t. When they returned to the village, Y’shtola was waiting for them, leaning against the entrance to the cavern nibbling a sweet bun. 

“Sorry we’re late…” the Champion began, but Y’shtola waved a hand dismissively.

“I’m just relieved you came back at all. I had half believed Urianger was going to whisk you back to Il Mheg and I’d have to burn his little cottage to cinders just to get you two to get back to work.” Y’shtola took one of the hero’s hands and pulled her close, looking her over, as if checking for injuries. Thankfully, his beloved had rummaged about in her little satchel full of stones that morning, so rather than her rather risque number of the day before, she wore a much more utilitarian ensemble, the leather collar of which neatly hid the mark he’d left upon her in their passion.

Satisfied that her friend was intact, Y’shtola said, “I must speak with you before we depart, but I must speak to Urianger first. Can you wait for me in my chamber?” the Champion nodded, and headed further into Slitherbough, and his eyes followed her, drawn to the way the gun at her side only accentuated the swing of her hips as he walked. He brought a hand up to his face and groaned under his breath. It was going to be a very long day.

Once she was out of sight, Y’shtola turned back to him. “No visits from the Ascian?”

Urianger shook his head. “Nay, Lady Y’shtola. My lady and I were blessedly uninterrupted.” He bit back a more irritated comment. While he did not wish to be reminded of Emet-Selch, he knew the Miqo’te’s concerns were valid, and he would have asked the same, were their roles reversed. 

Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Good. I am going to take her aside and tell her everything. About the corruption, and that she is _bound_.”

“I will join thee-” Urianger began, but Y’shtola held up a hand to stop him.

“No. You will wait outside.” He raised an eyebrow to her objection, and she continued. “I am doing you a _favor_ , Urianger. I will be the villain delivering unpleasant news - she will forgive me for it as I am more removed from the situation. Afterward she can come running to you, and you can console her. If you are there when she is told she may take it out on you instead, and none of us want that.”  
Urianger raised an eyebrow, and Y’shtola laughed. “It might surprise you, but I think you are good for her. She is the greatest hero of our age - the one beside her must be comfortable in her shadow, and you have never shied away from that. Further, for all that I adore her, she is an idiot, at times. It is good to know she has someone with a head on their shoulders when I’m not around.” 

She turned to depart, but Urianger said, “Wait-” and so Y’shtola stilled. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and swallowed. “Make sure she knoweth that her _binding_ with the Ascian matters not to me. It is not my wish that she believe, even for a moment, that I might love her less for it.”

Y’shtola smiled. “I will say so, but you may have to tell her as well, afterward. It will mean more for her to hear it from you.”

* * *

The door to Y’shtola’s chambers burst open, startling Urianger, causing him to leap to his feet, and the Champion came racing out, dashing across the clearing at breakneck speed. Y’shtola was out a moment later, calling “Wait!” When the woman did not slow, she turned her gaze to Urianger. “Go after her.”

Without hesitation, Urianger took off after her, his legs slow and clumsy beneath him. _Twelve,_ he thought, _she is like lightning._ as she quickly outpaced him. It did not deter his pursuit, however, as he could still hear her ahead, and occasionally saw a flash of her back between the trees, in the dappled rays of sunlight breaking through the branches above. 

As they reached the shores of the lake, she dove in, vanishing beneath the glittering surface into the darkness below. Urianger’s own feet carried him forward, and all he heard was Moenbryda’s mocking, “You can’t swim!” before he threw himself into the water as well.

The most surprising thing about being underwater, in Urianger’s opinion, was the stillness. Above the surface, the water was always moving, rushing, and making noise besides. Here, he heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart, and his hair flowed about his head, obscuring his vision. He knew he didn’t have long, as he could not breathe, so he searched for some sign of where she’d gone, but found nothing.

When the burning in his chest became unbearable, he turned his face towards the surface and tried to scramble upwards - and there found his dilemma. His robes were now heavy with water, and his chains had become tangled about some bit of rock. His heart pounding, he twisted about, trying to grasp the chain and pull it loose, but it was stuck fast. 

As his movements became frantic, he let out a gasp, and cold water filled his mouth and nose. At the same time he felt the chain come loose, and a strong arm, like a band of iron, wrap about his chest and haul him upwards. Pain lanced through his body as he was tossed unceremoniously onto the shore. He rolled onto his side and his chest heaved uncontrollably as he vomited up lake water, then slumped onto his back. 

A flash of aether called to him, and he let his head loll to the side. Through the spots overtaking his vision he saw his beloved raise an astrolabe into the air, and her leathers give way to black velvet and silver stars.

“Diamonds…” he murmured, a soft smile touching his lips “strewn across a raven gown…”

Then everything went black.

* * *

He awoke to another fit of coughing, and more water poured forth from him. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and looked up to see the Champion standing over him, back in her leather, gun at her hip, and fury burning in her eyes.

“Urianger,” she said, her voice carefully modulated, “why did you jump into a lake when you don’t know how to swim?” Her tone reminded him of the tutors from his childhood, and he blushed as a long forgotten fantasy whispered in the back of his mind. _Later,_ he told himself.

When he didn’t answer, she growled in her throat and said, “I _asked_ you a question.”

“My lady,” he said, his voice strained from the soreness of his throat, “I have chosen to follow thee.”

“You could have _died_!” she yelled. “It’s dangerous!”

“If danger be not enough reason for me to dissuade thee from thy path,” Urianger said, “then it is not enough for thee to deny me mine.” He struggled to his feet. His body ached, but he needed to be standing for this. She deserved that much, at least. 

“I accepted, from the moment I knew that thou wert the master of my wretched heart, that I could not bar thee from throwing thyself headlong into danger. ‘Tis not for me to change thee, no matter how I long to take thee home and think no more on primals or monsters or any other threats that may raise their heads upon this star.” He took a step towards her, but she did not move. “With gladdened heart would I have thee put thy quest aside and come away with me, to be naught but a quiet academic’s wife.”

Her eyes narrowed for a moment, but he continued. “However - that is not thee. More fool I, perhaps, but I will ne’er ask thee to change who thou art to suit my whims. So I have resolved to follow thy leading, be it through blazing fire, or deepest lake - and that is something thou canst not change within me. So long as thou wouldst still have me by thy side, there I shall be, though it may cost me my life.”

“Urianger,” she said, looking away. “Emet-Selch -”

“I am aware,” he interrupted. “I know that thou art _bound_ to the Ascian, and it changeth not my heart or mind. And if thou still chooseth to let me follow thee, I swear I will find a way to free thee, even an it take unto my dying breath.”

“What does it mean?” she asked. Her eyes searched his face, and he felt his chest warm. Even now, she came to him for answers. _Twelve above,_ he thought to himself, _let it ever be so._

“We have a long walk back to the Crystarium, beloved, and I fear Y’shtola will not permit us to dally another night away, as much as I yearn to. Let us return to Slitherbough, and I shall explain all to thee as we walk,” he said, approaching her. He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand into it, leaning her head against him.

They walked together for a few moments in silence, until she said, “Since you _insist_ on following me, I shall have to teach you how to swim.”

Urianger laughed, startling the birds from their trees.

* * *

“The _Binding_ is an ancient ritual, one of the handful banned amongst the Sharlayans,” Urianger began. “It is deceptively simple, given its effects. Art thou familiar with the composition of the soul?” 

The Champion shook her head, listening intently to him as they meandered through the forest towards Lakeland, the rest of their friends far ahead. 

He nodded. “The soul is made of aether, concentrated along a number of pathways, similar to the pathways of the Lifestream, that together form a matrix of aetherial energies, much as the Lifestream formeth a matrix of aetherial energies for a star.

“This matrix calls unto itself more aetherial energy that resonates into the form of the self. To further explain, when Lady Y’shtola used _Flow_ , she dissipated her ambient aetherial energy, and cast her core matrix into the Lifestream in hopes to escape. This can be quite dangerous, as we have said, given that a soul entering the Lifestream without ambient aether can quickly be shredded by the currents within that primordial river. This is oft why, despite our knowledge that reincarnation doth exist, children are born without memory of their previous lives. Memory is the first thing to be stripped from the soul.”

“With the _Binding_ , two souls are tethered together utilizing aetherial chains. Given that the soul itself is comprised of aether, the chains quickly calcify into portions of the soul, fusing the two souls into one. That being said, it still originated as two souls, and thus still has the ‘instructions’ for those so bound to reform as two discrete beings. The ritual itself is believed to be an ancient predecessor to the modern Ceremony of Eternal Bonding, which no longer includeth the binding of souls.”

She chewed her lips. “So I’m married to an Ascian.”

“Not quite…” Urianger said, brushing her hair out of her face. “At the moment, thou merely share a soul with the wretch. I know not by what strange alchemy he hath managed to prevent the corruption of Light within thy soul from bleeding into his, as that was my original purpose in seeking knowledge of the _binding_. Mayhap his own darkness doth shield him from thee?”

The Champion coughed. “Wait, what?”

“Didst not Y’shtola tell thee? I sought knowledge of the _Binding_ as a way to prevent the Light Aether from causing thee harm. ‘Twouldst be an easier burden to bear, I wager, if thou hadst some desperately devoted Elezen beside thee, shouldering half.”

She laughed, and laid her head against his arm. After a moment, though, the laughter died in her throat. “I don’t remember binding myself to him. Did he do it against my will?”

Urianger winced. “That is… _doubtful_ , my lady. There is another aspect to the _Binding_ which I have not yet discussed that may explain, however.” He looked down at her. “If thou mindeth not a bit more of my prattling?”

His beloved smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “Please,” she said, as much question as command.

“As I have mentioned, the two souls become one, and once one has died, their soul enter unto the Lifestream, to be reborn elsewhere. When one perishes, their soul sendeth out a command, to separate from their flesh and enter that Aetherial River. In the case of those who are _bound_ should one of them perish, their soul still sendeth out that command, to the _entire_ soul. Ergo, if one should perish, so too wouldst their _literal_ soulmate. Both would enter into the Lifestream, and both would be reborn, within a relatively small distance and time frame of one another. Not more than a few years or a few hundred malms would separate them.”

She raised her hand to her chin and pondered a moment. “So you’re saying that I was bound to him in a past life.”

“Most likely, my lady,” he replied. “And the next question upon thy lips will be - how doth he still live, then? Why didst thy death not rip him from this self-same mortal coil? I fear the only answer I have for the time being is that some part of his Ascian nature doth prevent him from joining thee in death. Mayhap his very ability to possess the bodies of others is what protects him.”

“While that is definitely an answer,” she mused, smiling up at him, “that isn’t the question I was going to ask next.” 

“Oh?” He tilted his head in curiosity. “Prithee, ask thy question, then, and I shall endeavor to answer thee.”

She looked at the ground, a blush creeping over her cheeks. “Were you really planning to _bind_ yourself to me, rather than just let me die? Doesn’t that seem like overkill?”

“And lose thee for all time?” Urianger scoffed dismissively. “Nay. I wouldst move mountains to see thee safe, beloved. I find myself quite pleased that all this trial would ask of me is to walk beside thee for eternity.”

“Yes, but what about in the next life? You would still be…” She chewed her lip a moment. “... stuck.”

He stopped, and pulled her gently to a stop beside him. She looked up, and he bent to kiss her again. “I see thou thinkest me a much more noble man than I am, in truth. Though I shall endeavor to live up to thy impressions, I must confess that ‘twas selfishness that leadeth me to the _binding_ as my solution to the issue. If thou wilt allow me a moment of brutal honesty?”

She raised an eyebrow, and nodded.

He smiled. “I am a vain, selfish, territorial, overly-pretentious academic who is thoroughly convinced of his own genius. Though thou and I have but recently embarked upon this road together, when I cast my eye back upon my memories of our friendship on the Source, I see in mine actions the truth that I considered thee mine long before I realized it. Why else would I have dabbled with the Warriors of Darkness of eld, sacrificed Minfilia to the First, or forsaken the life I had chosen before, one of solitude and scholarship, again and again when the opportunity was afforded me?”

His heart lurched as he realized the truth of his words, even as they flowed past his lips. “Why else did I not go to Moenbryda’s side?” Tears slipped out of his eyes, but as he unburdened himself to his beloved, he found he could not stop them. “I had waited years for her. Why had I not summoned her before? Even then, even an when she was hale and healthy and beside me, thy hold on me was secure, though we knew it not. I loved her, aye, and I still do, but as one might love a playmate from the halcyon days of thy youth. But when she came to us in the Waking Sands, I was a callow youth no longer. And so I said the words I felt that I should say, ever given to the dramatic, but I did not seek her bed in all the days she was amongst us, despite my knowing full well she would welcome me with open arms. My guilt over her death springeth not from the future that was stolen from us, but from the lie I let her live. She met her end believing that I loved her as a woman, but I did not.”

He bent his head low, and brought his hand up, tilting his lover’s face so that he could look into her eyes in the light of the sun that she had returned to these woods. “It was thee,” he whispered, his voice choked and hoarse. “It was only _ever_ thee.” He kissed her, a balm for the painful truth he had come to realize and accept. 

When they parted, he inhaled deeply, and ran a hand through his hair. “Forgive me, I prithee. I wandered from my point, which was: in sooth, I long to _bind_ thee to me purely for the simple pleasure of knowing thou are, and shall remain, _mine_ until the end of days. That it might have some additional beneficial effect is mere happy accident, and a convenient excuse for me to be more flagrant with my desires.”

She blushed, but frowned. “But I’m _bound_ to Emet-Selch.”

Urianger nodded once, and straightened. “Dost thou love him?”

A momentary look of disgust flashed across her features, and filled Urianger with smug satisfaction. “No,” she said. “Not in the least. I am… repulsed by him.”

Urianger nodded. “Then we shall find a way to free thee from his _binding_ , and once that is done, if thou art willing, I will _bind_ thee to me instead.” He said it lightly, as if he was speaking of going to a market to pick up pen and ink.

“What if…” She swallowed nervously. “What if being _bound_ to me is what made him an Ascian? I am the Warrior of Light. This world had a Warrior of Light as well…”

Urianger shrugged. “If _binding_ oneself to a Warrior of Light maketh thee an Ascian, then it is well that I look dashing in robes and have a penchant for mystery already.” She giggled, and he glanced down the path. Thancred’s white coat, in the distance, was a barely visible pinprick amongst the greys, greens, and browns of the greatwood.

“Come, my love. To the Crystarium.” He held out his arm, and she took it, and his heart was so light he almost believed he could fly.


	14. Crystarium, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected attack on the Crystarium, and an unexpected decision from Minfilia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Writing battles really isn't my forte, so I kept trying to edit in skill I don't have. But, at this point, I got past it. The next chapter will probably be some light fluff, I haven't decided if it will be smut as well or not. Feel free to comment with your preferences!
> 
> Also feel free to hassle me on twitter @amandaterasu - once this is done i'll be posting a poll there to find out which fic i should do next.

The walk back to the Crystarium was good for the Champion in Urianger’s opinion, and himself as well. After the painful revelations of that morning, he was pleased to see her lighthearted and laughing with their friends. Whatever anger she had felt at Y’shtola when she’d run to the lake was gone, and the two women were thick as thieves again, snickering behind their hands at everyone and everything.

It surprised the Elezen how seamlessly their relationship fit into the group as well. After some light teasing from Y’shtola, and some outright ribald comments from Thancred, they once again found that easy rhythm of a group of long-time compatriots, who had seen and shared too much to be anything but pleased with each other’s joy. 

Urianger was also intrigued by how quiet the Crystarium was upon their return. Though he supposed, as he stared upon the Crystal Tower glittering in the early afternoon sunlight, the death of the Lightwarden at Holminster Switch had made the forests of Lakeland somewhat less dangerous, and the people could now go out into them for resources without fear. 

The five of them - Y’shtola, Thancred, Minfilia, Urianger and his beloved - idled in the plaza before the tower while mulling over what to do. That is to say, Y’shtola, Thancred, and Urianger idled. The Champion, whom Urianger noted had seemed to have fallen into the role of elder sister to young Minfilia, was teaching the child various knife tricks. The only thing that the academic found unusual about the interaction, sadly, was that Minfilia had not yet already learned said feats of skill from Thancred.

“My friends!” a voice called, and they turned to see Alphinaud and the Exarch approaching, “‘Tis good to see you all again!” They all crowded around the boy, and the champion gave him a tight hug. As she pulled away, Minfilia smiled up at the boy, her cheeks pink. 

“Hello, Alphinaud,” the girl said. He was completely oblivious, of course, which was more for the better, in Urianger’s opinion. Minfilia was barely thirteen, and one day they would have to leave her here upon the First and return to the Source. Some thought of that must have entered Thancred’s mind as well, for his face when from anger to irritation to pity in the flicker of the moment.

“Alphinaud!” Y’shtola stepped in, hugging the boy as well before things became awkward, “It has been too long.” 

He smiled and returned her embrace. “I assume your presence here means you’ve brought word of the Warden hiding in Rak’tika?” The Exarch, still silent, tilted his head in interest.

At that, the women began talking about their adventures, their sentences tumbling over each other as they described the culture of the Night’s Blessed, the depths of Pyramid, and what they had learned of the Ascians in the Qitana Ravel. 

Alphinaud, for his part, listened intently. “Alisaie will be furious she missed it!” he laughed.

“Eulmore has but recently dispatched soldiers to all corners of Norvrandt to defend them. I am glad to see their efforts were wasted on the Greatwood,” the Exarch said, bowing respectfully before glancing briefly at Urianger’s hand where it rested on the Champion’s hip, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk.

“Speaking of Eulmore, what came of your meeting with Vauthry?” Thancred asked.

“Yes, about that. It proved to be…” The Crystal Exarch doubled over, clutching his head. “Urgh…”

Alphinaud jumped to his side. “Exarch, you mustn’t push yourself. Your time away from the tower has clearly taken its toll.” The boy glanced about the group. “Why don’t we all take a much-needed rest before we discuss our findings?”

As they went to disperse, the Exarch held up a hand. “Urianger, wait.”

Urianger paused, and his beloved looked up at him. “Thou shouldst go on ahead to thy rooms, _minette_. I will attend to the Exarch and then join thee.” She nodded, and he pressed his lips to her forehead before she ran off.

* * *

As soon as the doors to the Tower closed behind them, Urianger said “Thou knew, am I correct?”

“Knew what?” the G’raha Tia asked. He slumped into a chair at a long table, and rubbed a hand across his head, but kept his cowl low over his face.

“That she be bound to that _Ascian_.” The word left his mouth in a hiss.

The Exarch shrugged. “I had my suspicions. It explains his actions as the Garlean Emperor, at least.”

Urianger raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He was furious with G’raha Tia, and losing his temper might be temporarily cathartic, but he needed the Miqo’te’s help in _fixing_ it. The Exarch waved a hand towards a stack of books nearby. “ _Life and Times of Emperor Solus, Volume 2_.” 

Gritting his teeth, Urianger fetched the book, and tossed it onto the table in front of his companion, who immediately began flipping through the pages, looking for something specific. Urianger took a seat nearby, and waited, his fingers steepled in front of him.

“Here we are…” The Exarch offered him the book.

On the page before him was one of the few official portraits of Emperor Solus that included his Empress. Little was widely known of the woman, save that she had been his wife before his translation to Emperor, and she died not long after giving birth to his second son, who would go on to father the current emperor, Varis zos Galvus. What surprised Urianger was the Empress’s face. From beneath the signature ‘third eye’ of all pure-blooded Garleans, the Champion’s eyes looked out at him from the page, as if daring the viewer to challenge her. One of her hands was raised, clasping one of the Ascian’s own and his other hand rested on her shoulder - a clear sign in the language of portraiture that theirs was just as much a marriage of love as politics.

On the opposite page, it detailed the events surrounding the Empress’s death:

>   
>  At her passing, the Emperor sequestered himself for a full fortnight. When he emerged from his mourning, he gave the following official statement:
> 
> _It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that our beloved Empress has entered that final repose that waits for all who walk upon this star. While I mourn her passing with every fiber of my soul, I take great hope in the dream that she inspired us to build. She gave me all of herself, and so I gave to her the greatest empire this world shall ever know. In her name, did I push myself to greatness. In her name, did I bring peace and prosperity to our citizenry. And it is in her name that we shall continue to expand, to discover, to conquer, to rule, until at last I can give unto her memory what she truly deserved in life: the world._
> 
> _I make this declaration, here, now, as a promise to my_ uxor _, so that when we are reunited in that perfect eternal paradise, whole again, I might hold my head high, and be worthy of her._
> 
> Though Emperor Solus did take other wives, he refused to grant any of them the title of _Empress_ , and even went so far as to have it codified into law that no wife of an emperor may take that title. All Imperial wives thereafter have been styled _Lady Consort_ instead.  
> 

Urianger frowned at the use of the word _uxor_ in the record. He’d been aware that Emperor Solus was a student of Allagan history, and so was unsurprised by his use of the term, both in Garlean history and again as Emet-Selch, when he spoke to the Champion. It had never occurred to him, until now, that _uxor_ might be the title he used for the woman to which he was bound. The Elezen rubbed his face with his hand. “How long ago dost thou suspect they have been _bound_?”

“At least before the rise of the Garlean Empire. Volume I states that he sent a letter _demanding_ her hand in marriage the day he was made legatus,” the Exarch said. “When her family refused, he travelled to her family’s estate, and, starting with her grandfather, asked each male member of her household if they would grant him her hand. When they refused, he executed them, and proceeded to the next. When her elder brother consented after their father’s death, he took her away and married her, and said elder brother was given high station upon Solus’ translation to emperor. Given that there are no records of them meeting before that point, he must have known what he was looking for.”

“An I suppose most older records wouldst either have been destroyed in a Calamity, or lost somewhere amidst this tower,” Urianger said dismally. “The question then becomes - why did he not move immediately to claim her on the Source?”

G’raha Tia shrugged. “Mayhap he didn’t realize there was competition for her hand, and so did not feel pressed for time - until she came to the First, unexpectedly.”

Urianger nodded. “Thou hast given me much to think on. Perchance, knowth thee any way to undo the _Binding_?”

Shaking his head, the Exarch stood. “Not any I’m sure of. I have some theories, but they are not… pleasant.”

The Elezen raised an eyebrow. 

“Most involve her death,” he said sheepishly. “But I’m sure there is a way. It just might be up to the two of you to find it. After all, she’s worked miracles before - what’s one more in the grand scheme of things?”

* * *

Urianger woke with a start to some strange noise outside. He looked over to his beloved, but she slept soundly, so he slipped out of bed and pulled his robe back around himself.

Padding quietly to the window, he staggered back at what he saw on the horizon, and fled the room.

As he ran for the entrance to the Pendants, he saw Thancred on the stairs as well, and called out to him.

“Where is she?” Thancred asked, already loading bullets into his gunblade.

“She remains asleep. I had hoped to apprise myself of the situation before I roused her from that slumber,” He looked back anxiously at the door to the Champion’s rooms.

“She’ll catch up,” Thancred said, and grabbed Urianger’s wrist, pulling him after. The two men reached the Aetheryte, where they found Y’shtola, and the three of them looked on in horror to the flock of sin eaters flying towards the Crystarium, in hot pursuit of a crowd of locals running for the city in hopes of reaching it safely.

Y’shtola and Thancred moved to the entrance to hold off the Sin Eaters, while Urianger remained in the plaza, directing those flooding in to head into the central plaza, and providing quick healing for those too injured to move with any alacrity to safety.

A sound, above and to his left, drew his attention, and he looked up to see his beloved running along the catwalk towards one of the anchors for the Aegis, a sin eater flying towards her from beyond the city walls. _The Aegis_ he thought, and he was suddenly filled with terror for her, _it has yet to rise!_

He summoned his aether to help her, _defend her_ , when he felt sharp fingernails dig into his arm. He looked down to see Y’shtola tugging at him.

“Urianger!” the Miqo’te shouted. “You have to trust her!” He heard the crack of a gunshot and looked up, but his beloved was already moving back along the walkway, and the enemy was nowhere to be found. “Come! We have to fight them off!” Y’shtola yelled, so he steeled himself and followed her as a crack of thunder split the sky, heralding the rain which drowned out all but the loudest sounds.

* * *

Y’shtola and Urianger arrived at Radisca’s Round to find the Crystarium forces nearly overcome by the enemy. Though together they slew countless sin eaters, still more came from trees, their unearthly Light illuminating the forest in haunting hues. Finally, a large sin eater, more hyur than most, appeared from the darkness and descended on them, laying waste to a number of soldiers in its path.

Y’shtola stepped forward, raising her staff and calling down lightning from the clouds above, striking the monstrosity over and over while Urianger shielded her from its onslaught. Mid-cast, the Miqo’te’s face brightened, and at the end of the spell she called out, “A timely arrival, my friend. I have my hands full here!”

Urianger glanced over his shoulder to see his beloved, gun in hand, fire a shot at a sin eater heading for the Leveilleur twins running with her. He longed to run to her, but he remembered Y’shtola’s words - _You have to trust her!_

“Mine own magicks shall suffice to aid Y’shtola,” he called to her through the storm. “I bid thee offer succor to the guard.” Y’shtola called down another flash of lightning, and in its brilliance he saw her nod, once, then she was gone, vanished into the darkness.

 _Twelve, Ne’er have I taken such comfort from the sound of battle,_ he thought, realizing every single _crack!_ of her gun was a reminder she was well. 

He turned his attention back to the sin eater, and resumed his casting. Three more of Y’shtola’s bolts, and in the fourth, he saw his beloved behind his opponent, with the twins, the three of them surrounded by the bodies of lesser sin eaters.

In the dim light emitted by the corpses around her, he saw her raise her gun, an exultant smile on her face, and fire.

* * *

As the five of them left Radisca’s Round, heading for the Imperative, he was surprised to find that most of the enemy was dead, their corpses marking their path like the lamps of Limsa Lominsa.

Thancred and Minfilia rushed from the trees, and Minfilia ran to the Champion. “You’ll be glad to know that the locals have all taken shelter!”

“We can’t allow the eaters to gain any ground!” Thancred called out, “With me!”

As they ran forward, Ryne stumbled, but Alphinaud caught her arm, hauling her back to her feet before letting go. Urianger glanced sidelong towards his beloved, and saw her make a hand motion to Y’shtola, which she answered in similar kind. He pushed it to the side, to ask about later.

A massive sin eater, similar to the one they’d fought at the Round, appeared before them, and slew a group of men before flying off into the trees.

“I’ll follow the eater!” Thancred shouted. “You press on to the Imperative!”

Minfilia darted after him. “I’m staying with you!”

And so they were separated again, but Urianger saw the boy glance back, his eye tracking Minfilia as she vanished into the trees.

“These eaters are too organized,” Y’shtola said. “They cannot merely be acting on instinct.” Urianger nodded, and the five of them looked towards the Imperative, where it loomed at the top of the hill.

As they pressed into the fortress, they found themselves beset from all sides.

“Beloved,” Urianger drew his astrolabe. “Thancred be not by, and I have not armor to defend us all…”

“Way ahead of you,” she called out, and that familiar stir of aether flared, replacing her leather with steel, and her gun with a sword nearly as large as she was.

“I will never not be jealous of that,” Alisaie said beside him, and Y’shtola giggled, but the champion leapt into the air, bringing the zweihander down with a great cleave into the nearest enemy.

* * *

Urianger found his beloved, after the battle, holding down a soldier while Alphinaud set his broken leg. He assisted the boy in casting healing magic, to ensure the break would not trouble him in the future, then pulled the Champion away.

“Pray, forgive me, a moment.” He tugged her into a nearby gap between two buildings, then leaned down and kissed her roughly, pinning her between himself and the stone wall. He needed to taste her, feel her warmth, find her heart beating against his chest after all the tragedy and death. He needed to feel _alive_ , just for a moment, and he needed to know she was safe and whole. His hands moved of their own accord along her form, looking for injuries or unexpected aetheric disturbances.

“Urianger…” She pulled away from him, but he saw the same need in her eyes. She swallowed, anxiously, but didn’t take her hands off him. “I need to go check on Lyna. But when we get back to the Crystarium…?”

He nodded and kissed her forehead. “I understand. I should help with the healing.” She smiled, and they separated again. 

Urianger forced himself to return to Alphinaud’s side, and together, they moved amongst the injured, helping and healing as necessary. The boy had made much progress in his skills since the last time he had worked closely with him, and he approved greatly of Alphinaud’s diligence.

His attention was snapped away again when he heard a raised voice.

“-Better than fine!” Lyna shouted, and he saw his beloved kneeling beside her, as the Viis shrieked in despair. “Hale and hearty and still alive to mourn those who are not! Who I failed to protect…” Her voice died away, and from that distance, Urianger could not hear.

The Champion reached out a hand and touched Lyna’s shoulder tentatively as she continued. “We’ve come so far, so _godsdamned_ far! I could have sworn the end was in sight.” 

Lyna said something else, lost to the distance, and he watched his lover’s hand gently stroke her hair in a muted attempt at consolation. He fell in love with the Champion all over again, in that moment. She and Lyna had fought through most of the night, and even now, she kept herself together, showing compassion to a woman she barely knew rather than taking a moment for herself.

“Impudent worms of the Crystarium!” A voice echoed from above, and Urianger’s gaze snapped up to the airships flying over head. “The tragedy that has befallen you is of your own making. Divine retribution for your defiance.”

“Vauthry…” Alphinaud hissed beside him. Urianger’s eyes narrowed.

The reverberating voice continued. “The heavens have bequeathed to you a benevolent savior - me! I offer you freedom from pain and suffering - a paradise where man and sin eater might live in peace and harmony. Why, already our winged brothers and sisters regard me and mine as kin, alike to them in beauty and purity!”

Urianger saw his beloved rise to her feet out of the corner of his eye, her own gaze fixed on the airships. 

“But you -” the voice said, and he saw her reach for the sword strapped to her back. “You not only reject my proffered hand, but raise your own against my sin eaters. ‘Tis only right that they respond in kind.” Alisaie saw the Champion’s actions as well, and ran over to her, even as the voice drowned out what they said. “Let this be a lesson to all those who would walk the path of sin - the wicked shall not inherit this world!”

As the airships spread away, Alisaie ran over to them. “She’s going to go look after Thancred and Minfilia. I’m going to go arrange transport for the -” Alphinaud reached out and placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder. It was only then Urianger realized her voice was shaking. Alisaie swallowed and took a breath, then nodded to Alphinaud, a sign that she was all right, “- for the afflicted. To Amh Araeng.” 

Alphinaud nodded. “Go. We have everything here well in hand. Isn’t that right, Urianger?”

“Quite, my lady,” he replied, bowing. 

The girl smiled brittlely in thanks, then ran off towards the amaro keeper. 

Urianger glanced over towards the Champion, again, and caught her eye with a smile as she winked out of existence in a circle of aether - a sign she had gone directly to an aetheryte elsewhere, most likely the Crystarium.

He turned his attention back to Alphinaud. “Shall we?”

The boy nodded, and they returned to their work, stabilizing those patients they could, before word arrived from the Crystarium that the Exarch would like a word.

* * *

Urianger entered the Ocular to find his friends, including his beloved, already with the Exarch. As his arm settled about her shoulder, she leaned against him. Even without speaking, he could _feel_ her exhaustion. Despite what he was sure were important words from the Exarch, he hoped the meeting would be swift. His paramour needed a hot bath, a good meal, and a warm bed, and he had plans to provide all three. He would be lying if he said he didn’t need them as well - his aether was drained, taxed from battle followed by an intensive round of healing.

As the Crystal Exarch began to speak, the Champion suddenly raised her head, and turned towards the door. A chill went down his spine when it opened, as he somehow knew it would, admitting Emet-Selch.

The Ascian was in a foul mood, a scowl knitting his brow just below his third eye. “Sorry I’m late,” he said acerbically, “though I would _not_ have been had anyone thought to notify me in advance.”

G’raha Tia, his cowl still pulled low over his face, paused for a moment, then continued. “... As I was saying, it was only with your aid that we weathered this assault.” Emet-Selch’s scowl deepened at the calculated show of disrespect. “Without it, the Crystarium and all who dwell here would now be gone.” 

Alphinaud, looking just as exhausted as the rest of them, said, “For each we saved, another perished.” Alisaie held her brother’s hand, offering what support to him she could. “If there is anything else we can do to help - anything at all - you need only ask. This is our home too, and we want nothing more than to keep it safe.”

The Exarch smiled warmly at the boy. “Thank you. We are blessed to have you with us.” He returned his attention to the group. “As for the attack itself - Vauthry may call it divine retribution, but sin eaters are creatures of instinct. A coordinated assault is unprecedented.” Emet-Selch took a slow step toward the Champion, who was studiously ignoring him, just like everyone else, paying more attention to the Exarch’s words. “Moreover, in the absence of a Lightwarden, there should have been no compulsion for lesser sin eaters to congregate here en masse. All of which points to a single, unavoidable conclusion…”

Urianger nodded in agreement. “That these minions of light answer to a higher power.” He squeezed his beloved a little closer. “He who did claim kinship with them - who did boast of control, not in idleness, ‘twould seem, but in earnest. Lord Vauthry.”

“Indeed,” the Exarch replied, “What I mistook for bluster was in fact the truth. The sin eaters are his to command. But if he imagines this show of force will convince us to bend the knee, he is sorely mistaken.”

Alisaie chuckled, grinning at the Exarch. “I take it your meeting in Eulmore did _not_ end well?”

“You could say that, yes,” he answered her grin with one of his own. “But I am wiser for the experience, nevertheless.” 

Alisaie tilted her head, but said nothing, so the Exarch continued. “It appears he has mastered a technique which allows him to enslave the minds of others. A fact I discovered when he attempted to use it on me.” The Champion inhaled a sharp breath, and Alisaie stepped forward in concern.

Alphinaud alone seemed unsurprised. “That would go some way towards explaining the peculiar reverence afforded him by his subjects. There may feasibly be a handful of true believers among them, I suppose, but it would not surprise me if the vast majority were in his thrall.” Alisaie glanced at her brother out of the corner of her eye, but he was looking towards Minfilia. Urianger flicked his eyes towards his beloved, and noticed she and Y’shtola were making those same hand gestures again. Thancred was staring at their hands, indignation and irritation on his face, though he said nothing.

The Exarch picked up the conversation. “Had I not anticipated his treachery, I might well have joined them. But seeing his invitation for what it was, I sent a glamour in my stead. I rather doubt such tricks will avail me a second time, however.” He chuckled softly.

Alisaie glanced between her brother and the Exarch. “Did you have any luck tracking down the Lightwarden in Kholusia?”

“Sadly, I have nothing to report on that front,” Alphinaud said, turning to his twin. “What of Amh Araeng?”

Alisaie sighed. “After a fruitless few days scour ruins, I resorted to asking the locals.” She shook her head ruefully at herself, and the Exarch chuckled into his hand. “While no one I spoke to had seen any sign of the Warden, I did uncover a possible lead: an abandoned mine in wester Amh Araeng. From what the Mord told me, it would be a perfect place to stay out of sight.” Alisaie crossed her arms and huffed, making her bangs flutter softly. “Of course, I could never hope to explore such a labyrinth quickly or safely on my own, so I returned here.”

Y’shtola spoke up, tapping her finger on her cheek. “Even should we _all_ join in the endeavor, an exhaustive search could take weeks - and with no guarantee of finding anything.”

They all paused a moment, in silence, and Urianger felt his beloved stir in his arms, opening her mouth to speak. He closed his eyes, wincing inwardly, as he knew what would come next. She would offer to go and find this Lightwarden by herself, _say_ she would send for them when she found it, but instead slay the thing immediately. _How far,_ he wondered to himself, _how far will she push herself past the breaking point?_ She was already barely standing, and it didn’t help that the Ascian was being _unusually_ silent, scowling at them all from the back of the room.

To Urianger’s surprise, however, it was Minfilia who spoke, not the Champion. “The Wardens harbor vast reservoirs of primordial Light, do they not? Far beyond anything found in lesser sin eaters.” Everyone turned to look at her, but the girl was watching Alphinaud, her small hands shaking. “And isn’t it true that the Oracle could see the Light of a sin eater from malms away? Surely a Warden would seem like a blazing beacon by comparison?”

Thancred closed his eyes, his face pained, as she continued. “To the _real_ Oracle of Light, I mean…” Minfilia’s voice became soft, again, and she looked away. “The real Minfilia.”

The Champion tensed, and exchanged a glance with Y’shtola, as everyone reacted in surprise. Alphinaud looked momentarily stricken, and looked to Alisaie, but she was staring at the other girl.

Minfilia looked up at Thancred, her voice shaky, but sure. “If we traveled to Amh Araeng, to the south where she halted the Flood, I could summon her back.” The man refused to look at her, and she took a step back, unsure. “What do you think?”

Thancred swallowed once, and opened his eyes. The parental concern burning in them reassured Urianger more than words ever could as to his feelings regarding the child. All he said was, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Minfilia’s voice raised. “Do what I can? What we both know is right?”

“Do not presume to know my mind,” Thancred replied, the strain of refusing himself the return of Minfilia Warde evident on his face. “You have no idea what you’re proposing.”

“But I _do_!” the girl cried, her jaw setting in a way that Urianger was sure she learned from the Champion. “I know why you never said anything. Because you thought you could keep me safe by keeping me in the dark.” Tears started welling in her eyes. “And… maybe I thought so too. But I _knew_ , Thancred. I always knew!”

The room stilled into stunned silence a moment, all eyes transfixed on the two of them. It is because of this that Urianger didn’t realize until a moment too late when he suddenly found himself leaning against the wall by the door, and saw the Ascian, so silent in the back they had nearly forgotten him, was now standing beside the Champion, his arm about her shoulders. From this angle, the Elezen could see the silent outrage climb her spine.

“Oh, I see…” Emet-Selch said, silkily, squeezing his _uxor_ a little tighter. “I thought you were a rather underwhelming reincarnation, but it all makes sense now.” He lifted his free hand to his chin as Urianger straightened and began walking towards them. “The Oracle lies dormant within you, doesn’t she? But to draw on her true power, you must become one, both body and soul.”

The Champion caught Urianger’s eye over her shoulder, and gave a quick shake of her head. Though he hated it, he knew the wisdom in it - now was not the time to start a fight they were not strong enough for.

Emet-Selch chuckled. “To wit, one being must consume the other. Who shall be the lucky winner?”

Minfilia looked down, and Thancred snarled, “This doesn’t concern you, Ascian.”

“But it plainly concerns you,” Emet-Selch’s voice was soft, almost taunting. “Which is why your heart is ready to burst out of your chest.” The Ascian’s fingers, over the Champion’s shoulders, twisted in a lock of her hair, but he kept his eyes on Thancred. “Despite the raging tempest in your bosom, however, you have never once opened up to your young charge. Now why would that be?”

Thancred’s teeth set on edge, and he clenched his hands into fists. Emet-Selch’s mouth twisted upward, just a touch, and Urianger knew he was _looking_ for a fight. They were exhausted, over-worked, and hungry, and he was here to bait them into stupid mistakes.

“Love…?” The Ascian asked, and the word hung heavy in the room. He looked down at the woman beside him, and the maliciousness swept out of him on a tide. He stood up straighter, as though he’d been reminded of some noble purpose. “Well, I for one think it’s a marvelous idea. Certainly more promising than any of your other suggestions.” He smiled down at the Champion, with the excitement of an adventurous schoolboy. “So - It’s off to Amh Araeng we go!”

Minfilia’s head remained bowed, but if Thancred had any aetheric ability remaining, Urianger was quite sure the Ascian would have ignited on the spot from the glare he was giving him. After a pause, all his friend could say was, “I’ll meet you at the gates,” before storming out.

As soon as the door shut behind him, the tears Minfilia had been fighting began streaking down her cheeks, and Alisaie rushed to her side, wrapping the girl in a hug. “It’s alright… It’s all right.” Alphinaud hung awkwardly to the side, glancing between the two girls as if unsure what to do.

Meanwhile, the Champion turned to Emet-Selch, a glower evident on her features. “Did you _enjoy_ being that much of an arse?”

The Ascian placed a hand on his chest. “Ah, _uxor_ , you wound me. I merely wanted to ensure everyone knew what we were getting into before we departed.”

Her hand clamped on his upon her shoulder, and she forcibly removed it. “There is no _we_ here.”

He chuckled darkly. “But there is, my dear. So long as you and I are _bound_ , it will always be _we_.”

Urianger saw his beloved’s jaw shift momentarily. “Then _we_ will not be bound for long.”

Emet-Selch’s chuckle turned into a laugh, and he wiped away an amused tear with one hand. “Oh, my _uxor_ , we already have been. I claimed you long before the Sundering, long before the destruction of our paradise, long before Hydaelyn or upstart Elezen. Speaking of…” He turned to Urianger. “I have other work to get to, I’m afraid. Do you mind breaking her in a bit more? It’s so tedious having to get through all those awkward early sexual experiences _every_ time she’s reincarnated.”

Urianger saw the bait for what it was - the Ascian was playing on his desire to spite him - attempting to turn every night with the Champion into something tinged with Emet-Selch’s approval. 

The Champion shrugged dismissively. “I don’t need your approval to fuck my fiancé , Emet.”

Y’shtola came up behind her friend, and put a hand on her shoulder in support. “Maybe watch the language, there are children present.” They all glanced to the teenagers, who were blushing and looking at the floor. 

The Exarch smirked. “Well, I have work to do, and it has been a busy day. Perhaps we should all get some rest?”

Y’shtola nodded in agreement. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Come, Minfilia, I suspect Thancred needs his space, so I shall take charge of you for the evening, hmm?”

The Miqo’te took the child by the hand, and lead her out, followed soon after by Alisaie and Alphinaud. 

Urianger watched as his beloved purposefully strode towards the doors. “Urianger,” she said, and her voice was hard - not that of a lovesick woman, but that of a hardened warrior. “Take me back to the Pendants.”

He bowed. “It would be my pleasure, beloved.”


	15. Crystarium (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a number of smaller scenes, lots of smut and fluff, before we get into the meat of the next part of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up some bits of Urianger's backstory as frankly, the guy is a mystery through and through and only so much has been revealed in game. If it contradicts anything established that I'm not aware of I'm really sorry.

The moment the door to her room at the Pendants was shut, the Champion was in Urianger’s arms, pulling him down for kiss after kiss while his hands sought the leather buckles keeping her armor in place. After the fifth, he growled in frustration, and summoned up the last bit of aether from his already taxed reserves; her armor collapsed into an obnoxiously loud pile somewhere else on the stone floor.

He slipped his hands beneath her shift, pulling her close, enveloping himself in the scent of blood, sweat, and sandalwood that mingled in the air around her. His urgency was answered by her own, she was already fumbling with the clasp that held the chains together over his robes, and they chimed slightly as they fell to the floor, only to be muffled again when his robe fell atop them.

Urianger pushed his beloved down onto the bed and climbed atop her, pressing her down into the mattress with every hungry kiss. While some quiet, distant part of him told him to be gentle, he could not. Every time he had seen her fight before, it was distant, quiet, or only a handful of enemies. Even during his time with the Warriors of Darkness, he had never seen anything like _this_. 

His beloved had stood against an army, _a literal army_ , of fearsome foes, and danced among them, Halone in the flesh. She had slain hundreds of eaters that day, and inspired many more to join her in the fight, turning the tide and saving countless lives. They may not have had some triumphant victory, but they _survived_ , and against those odds that was miracle enough.

Urianger tore his lips from hers and moved to her neck, hissing, “I wilt buy thee another,” before gripping her delicate shift in his hands and tearing it open. He pushed himself up on one arm and glanced down at her body, then cursed himself. He should have saved his aether - she was covered in bruises, and he did not have the magical energy left to heal her. He started to pull away, but her arms locked around him and pulled him back down.

“Don’t you _dare_ stop now, Urianger,” she hissed.

“Beloved,” he murmured, even as his hands resumed their exploration, “I fear I may hurt thee in my ardor.”

She dug her fingernails into his skin. “I want it to hurt. I need it to hurt, Urianger.” He felt her hips lift underneath him and the soft twist of hair at the apex of her thighs brushed his cock. 

That was all the encouragement he needed. 

Urianger slid one hand down her thigh and pulled her leg upwards by the knee, spreading her legs enough that he could find her entrance after a few clumsy thrusts, and once he did, he sheathed himself to the hilt inside her, then let go of her leg. It dropped to his own hip and wrapped around his waist, while her other leg remained pinned beneath him.

This time, the sex was not beautiful or poetic. No minstrels would write soft, sighing ballads of what they found together that night after the battle. G’raha Tia would have no tales of lust like this in some fanciful book about her life. It was just for them, just for love, just to feel alive and remind each other that they had survived together.

It did not take Urianger very long at all. He had been longing for her for hours, and she seemed eager to accommodate him now. He found his climax only a few minutes after starting, and groaned her name into her ear as he tried to crush her into the mattress with a few last, desperate thrusts. 

He went to pull away, but she kept her arms locked around him and shivered. “Stay, Urianger,” She murmured, her hips still moving beneath him. “It feels good just to have you inside me.”

“It feels good to be there, _minette_ ,” he chuckled, “but I shall not remain hard much longer, regardless of how beautiful thy begging.” He ran a hand over her skin and bit his lip, enjoying the freedom to touch her in ways he’d spent years believing to be naught more than an idle fantasy.

“Mmm,” She leaned into his touch. “Then hold me while I finish myself off,” she whispered, her hand already snaking its way down to her clitoris.

She whimpered as he slid out of her, but he pulled her close, one hand playing over her breasts while she touched herself, his mouth whispering adoration into her ear until she tensed beside him, her body arching off the bed.

* * *

“If anyone asks,” the Champion was saying, “I’m terribly ill. Urianger is taking care of me.” The appointed caretaker opened one eye blearily from the bed. His beloved was at the door, wrapped in a simple, Doman-style robe. 

He only wondered to whom she was speaking for a moment, before Y’shtola’s voice answered, “Fine. If anyone has earned a rest it’s you. Besides, Thancred’s still _brooding_.” There was some unexplained weight in the Miqo’te’s tone, that Urianger did not understand, and he felt he did not have the right to ask after. “But he’s letting you join me for supper, later, just us, and then we’re leaving tomorrow morning. As much as I know you’re enjoying his attention, I would feel better if our other responsibilities were seen to, so that we could drop the two of you off in Il Mheg and give you a few years to get it out of your systems before you rejoined polite society.”

“Take care of yourself, Shtola,” she said, and he heard the woman on the other side of the door laugh.

“You too, sister. I will come collect you at sunset.” He heard her footsteps padding away.

Before they’d gone far, the Champion hissed, “Wait!” and the steps stopped. “Can you ask the Master of Suites to send up a tub, and breakfast?”

Y’shtola’s throaty chuckle floated in from the hallway. “I don’t know how he puts up with you, but I will.” There was friendship and teasing in her voice, and when his beloved shut the door and turned back to the bed, she was smiling.

“Oh, you’re awake,” she said, coming over and crawling back into bed beside him.

“It appears I am, my lady. Is Lady Y’shtola well?” he asked. 

“She is.” The Champion brushed his hair out of his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Though I be yet sore, beloved, mine aether hath returned to me amidst my slumber.” He slid his fingers over the hand-painted silk of her robe. “Wilt thou allow me to tend thy wounds? I wouldst not make thee a liar, and thou didst tell our dear friend that I was tending thee.” He grinned. 

Her answering grin was warm. “After breakfast, and a bath. And I have to join Y’shtola for supper tonight.”

“I had heard something to that effect,” he replied, leaning up to kiss her neck. “But will I still be permitted to sate myself with thee until then?”

She chuckled. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

He glanced at the door. “Well, I had thought that after that breakfast and bath that thou seem to desire most keenly, I might ensure thou remembereth thy safe word, bind thee to the bed, and indulge one of my more… esoteric whims.”

Her cheeks flushed instantaneously, and it quickly spread to her forehead and neck. “I-If that’s what you want, Urianger.”

“It is, my dearest,” he purred, “but I shall have to pick up some things from the Musica Universalis. Do you mind if I leave now, whilst we await breakfast?” A little white lie, perhaps, but one that would not harm her.

The Champion nodded, and he kissed the tip of her nose affectionately before slipping out of bed. A flick of his hand and his robe was clean, another flick and it was on him, stars and chains in place. “Endeavor not to miss me too keenly, my heart.” 

She laughed and threw a pillow at him. “Get out of here, you cad. The sooner you leave the sooner you will come back.”

He gave a mocking bow and said, “As my lady commandeth,” before slipping out the door.

* * *

G’raha Tia’s head snapped up as Urianger burst in. The Elezen immediately started raiding the shelves, dumping an assortment of objects into his satchel: half a dozen aetheryte shards, chalk, a handful of quills, a penknife, multiple vials of ink, a pounce pot, and a few blank journals for note taking.

“Going to finally write your treatise on Fairy Runes, Urianger?” the Exarch called after him. 

Urianger shook his head, grabbing a few of the more advanced treatises on aetherology for reference. “Nay, my friend, something much more exciting.”

The Crystal Exarch’s question - “What?” - was asked to an empty room, as the Aetherologist had already dashed out the door.

* * *

Urianger pushed open the Champion’s door, an undeniable grin spread across his features. 

Two maids were setting out breakfast, and a large, communal bathing tub sat in the corner. They bowed respectfully, and dashed out when he returned, tittering behind their hands.

“We’re apparently the talk of the Crystarium, you know,” His beloved was at the glamour dresser in the corner, combing out her hair in the mirror. 

“Whilst I can understand why they wouldst be speaking of thee, what have I done to garner their attention?”

“Me,” she replied, smirking into the mirror. “It seems a few of the soldiers you healed after the battle recognized you again within the Crystarium’s walls, and you have been seen frequenting my rooms.” The Champion walked over to a small basket sitting next to the tub, full of soaps and bath salts, and knelt beside it. “I hope you weren’t intending to keep our relationship a secret.” She began rummaging through the little bottles, examining each one in turn.

Urianger laughed and approached the tub, running a finger along the inner rim and calling forth his own magic. The basin quickly began to fill with water. “I find that I am much too prideful to keep my greatest victory secret, _minette_.” 

She chuckled and held up a bottle to him, which he took, inhaling the heady fragrance of jasmine and spice. “I approve. Wouldst thou like me to use this?” She nodded, and he glanced over at the tub. It was nearly half-full, and steaming. He flicked his clothing away and said, “Shall we?” before climbing into the tub.

He watched as she untied her robe and let it flutter to the floor, and tentatively stepped in after him. Eagerly, he reached out to her, and pulled her to him, causing her to fall into his arms with a clumsy splash. They lost themselves for a few moments in giggles and kisses, no thought to the rest of the world, before they finally regained control of themselves and relaxed in the warm water.

“Mmm…” the Champion purred, and wrapped her arms around Urianger’s neck, laying her head on his chest. “I need to find an inn that has tubs like this on the Source.”

He laughed, running his fingers through her hair. “Thou hast not one in thy house?”

“No?” She seemed confused by the question, then she laughed. “Urianger, I don’t have a house. They’re much too expensive, and the market’s too tight. I’ve been saving for years, and if I found one available for cheap I -might- be able to afford one…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at his face.

Urianger realized he was scowling. “Beloved, where hast thou lived these past years, throughout thy adventuring?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Whichever inn had space? Or a spare bed in the Rising Stones, if one was available.”

He placed a hand over his face, angry with himself. _Idiot. Self-absorbed, entitled, twelve-be-damned fool thou art, Urianger. While thou resorted to moping and dramatics upon the Source …_ He glanced at her from between his fingers. She’d retreated to the far side of the tub, studiously ignoring him while he got himself together. _Thou hast been so obsessive, treating this love thou wouldst have as fleeting. She agreed to thy courtship and within a week thou had pitched the rules out the window in feverish pursuit of her._ He thought back to what she’d said to him, the first thing she’d said to him, after he’d seen her with those flowers in her hair-

>   
>  Her smile widened, and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “So, what are the rules of this courtship, Urianger? I don’t want to do something wrong out of ignorance.”  
> 

“I fear I must beg thy forgiveness, beloved,” He said, taking his hand away from his face. “Too preoccupied have I been with the physical and romantic aspects of our relationship, that I have quite neglected the more practical aspects of what _marriage_ betwixt us would mean.”

She looked up at him, and pulled her knees to her chest. “What do you mean by ‘practical’?”

“Marriage is not just the two of us falling madly in love and wandering aimlessly through life. We will become part of each other’s worlds, woven into every inch of it.” Urianger scratched the back of his neck. “I know not of thy own family, my dear, but my brother hath survived the Seventh Umbral Calamity, and afterward moved to Ishgard, where he maintains an estate with his wife. He wouldst have my head from my shoulders in an instant were he to learn that I had wed without so much as introducing you.”

“It’s not like you can introduce me, being stuck on the First,” she shrugged. “And I don’t have any family, really, that survived.” She looked askance. “That’s why I took up adventuring. No one to miss me.”

“That may have been the case when thou stepped upon this road, my lady, but thou hast found thy place amidst the Scions. _Further_ ,” he reached over and took her hand, pulling her back into his arms. “Thou hast referred to me as thy fiance, publicly, in front of witnesses. I wouldst consider myself remiss if I did not treat thee as one should treat their fiancee.”

“That was just to piss off the Ascian,” she grumbled. “You haven’t asked me yet.”

“No,” he said, tightening his grip on her, “I have not.”

“Why not?”

The question hung in the air between them for a moment, then he sighed and buried his face in her hair. “The deepest truth, which thou hast asked I bare to thee, is that I fear that thou wilt not be mine for long. I worry that this adventure, the Ascian, or mayhaps my own soul being bound to the First will pull us apart, and thou wilt seek some new horizon, and leave me behind. That I will do something,” _or have already done something,_ he thought to himself, “that will cause thee to leave me in displeasure. So I have been acting as though the passion between us is temporary. I have not made more permanent plans for us.”

“But you are trapped on the First, Urianger,” she said. “I plan to try to find a way to fix it, but first I want to make sure it is _safe_ for you.”

“For eight years have I been safe here on this uncharted shore, beloved. I am not helpless,” he teased, before turning her face towards his. “If I remain here for the rest of my days, so be it, but I will not do thee the disrespect or the disservice to treat thee as anything less than the woman to whom I am to be wed.”

She blushed, and he kissed her soundly. “I will ask thee for thy hand, in due course, my lady. However, we have strayed from the matter at hand. Thou wilt be mine, in more than just sweet romantic poetry. Thou wilt be a sister to my brother, as his bride is to me, and aunt to his children. Thou wilt be the lady of my house,” She looked at him in shock, but he just chuckled and continued, “Yes, I have mine own estate, dearest, that thou wilt be expected to rule over, though that can be in name only, if thou preferst. My housekeeper is quite adept, and has handled my affairs for years. Tataru visits often as well, to ensure the house is not lost from disuse when I go wandering, as I have, to the First.

“Those things bring with them certain responsibilities. Just as I will have responsibilities to thee. To see thee happy and well-cared for, to bend myself to bringing thy dreams to fruition.” His hand trembled as he brushed his fingertips along her hairline, “And to be a father to thy children, one day, if thou think me worthy of them.”

“One day, yes.” She pressed her lips to his, softly, and they forgot the rest of the world until long after the bathwater was cold.

* * *

“So, what shall we do with the day?” she asked, leaning against the frame of the window, looking out across the Crystarium. 

Urianger smirked. “Dost thou not recall, _minette_? We have plans?”

“Plans?” She looked over her shoulder at him, confused for a moment, then laughed. “Weren’t you sated by…” Her eyes drifted to the empty basin, leaned against the mantle, drying by the fire.

“Quite,” He said, grinning mischievously at her, “But I would like to take my time with thee, and it is better if I can…” Swallowing anxiously, he reached for her, taking her long braid in his hand and running his thumb over it, gently. “If I can but _focus_.”

She grinned wickedly, and walked over to the bed. “All right, Urianger. Far be it from me to tell you no.” She sat on the bed and looked up at him. “I believe you said something about tying me down?”

“I did,” he said, his heart hammering in his chest. “But first, thy safe word, beloved?”

She repeated her safe word, and he _almost_ felt bad for deceiving her. Almost.

He took a moment to reweave his own aether, granting himself aetherial sight for more than just a few moments, and looked her over. They were approaching resonance, now, and he could see the way his aether swirled amidst hers everywhere they’d touched. He leaned close, and kissed her, pleased to see motes of his aether remain on her lips, caught and stirred by her breath. “Relax, dearest,” he murmured, staring down into her eyes. “This shall be so much less complicated if thou doth not resist my working.”

She closed her eyes a moment, then nodded, and he kissed her again, reaching out with his aether to tie her to the bed frame with the same bindings that had pulled Ran’jit over the abyss.

* * *

“Um… Urianger?” She asked, still bound to the bed an hour later, as he put the finishing touches on his preparation. “What are we doing, exactly?”

He smiled at her from the edge of the circle he’d made around her, six aetheryte shards in specific alignment, and lifted his notebook again, making note of their positions in the diagram he was creating. “Thou art lying back and relaxing, _minette_ ,” he said, for the fifth or sixth time since he’d tied her down.

“Then what are _you_ doing?” She retorted. “And don’t say ‘Preparing’, again, or I swear I’ll throttle you once I’m free.”

“Thankfully, my preparations have reached their end,” Urianger said, heading across the circle toward her. “The time has come to begin my research.”

“R-Research!?” She asked in shock, her eyes going wide. “What are you _researching_?”

“Thee, of course,” He leaned down and ran a finger down her chest, stopping at the crystal humming with his aether where it lay between her breasts. “Thou knowest what I am - a professional aetherologist. Thinkest thou that I, or any other in my field worth the name, wouldst turn down the opportunity to examine and experiment upon the _Warrior of Light_? Slayer of Primals, Savior of the Source, Possessor of the Echo?” He chuckled at the way her blush, so familiar to him now, so exquisite, raced down her body. “Thinkest thou that I have not dreamed just as much of having thee for my curiosity as my cock?” The blush immediately deepened to a violent red, and he made a note in his journal. “Delightful.”

“Will you at least explain what you’re researching, about me, specifically, even if you just have to summarize?” She bit her lip and looked up at him.

Urianger found himself taken aback by the question. “Prithee? Wherefore wouldst thou know? It is of no interest to thee.”

Her eyes rolled. “Urianger, you’re an idiot. I love you, and just as much as I want to share my life with you, I want you to share your life with me.” Her head dropped back onto the pillow. “I want to hear about your work, and learn enough to at least…” she swallowed. “To at least understand what you and Shtola are always going on about, even if I can’t contribute in the same way.”

He smiled softly down at her, and nodded. “I shall explain all to thee, then, as we proceed.”

* * *

Urianger’s robe was in a crumpled heap on the floor, and the aetheryte shards long forgotten. Somewhere in his explanation, about the time he’d been explaining the ability of an aetheryte crystal to hold a ‘memory’ of a complex pattern, his need had come back to him, and he had realized, very suddenly, that she was tied to the bed, naked, and watching him with fascination.

Now he lay beside her, dragging his fingers lazily over her body, watching her aether stir under his ministrations. He had brought her to climax twice already, and was thinking of doing so a third time, but he glanced out the window and saw that he did not have nearly the hours he had thought.

“My beloved,” he murmured to her, leaning close and nibbling her ear. “I shall have thee, now, I think.” 

“Please, Urianger,” she whimpered, and he grinned. He’d spent quite a lot of time working her back up after the second orgasm, so he did not doubt her eagerness.

He settled between her legs and leaned himself up on one elbow, letting their aether blend together. As far as he could see, there was not an ilm of her skin left that wasn’t shimmering from his touch, and he was sure Y’shtola would mock him for it later, but he did not care. He finally, _finally_ , had peace, if only for one day.

When he pushed himself into her, she went taught as a bowstring beneath him, pulling desperately on the aetheric ties. But Urianger knew his work too well, and they held, keeping her open and vulnerable to him. His free hand went up to her face, turning it away from him so he could easily reach her neck, and the fluttering pulse he found there.

Though he had to admit Thancred’s trick was good, Thancred did not have the advantages Urianger had gained over the last few hours studying her body. He had watched her reach her climax, observed the shape and form her ambient aether took, and committed it to memory. Now the time had come to see if his work was diligent enough.

“The time has come, _minette_ ,” he murmured into her skin, “to see if my exploration of thy aether hath been thorough enough to grant me my desiring.”

“H-huh?” The confused noise passed her lips as a gasp, punctuated by a squeak when he thrust himself into her, forcing out the last of it.

“Experiments, dearest,” he murmured, “art the soul of research.” He clutched her tightly with his hand, and called on his own aether, running over her body like waves. Each mote found a partner amidst her own, and rearranged themselves into the ‘correct’ form. It was the same as healing, though the form he directed them to was not her body, whole and healthy, as written within the core of her soul - it was her body as he observed it, on the edge of ecstasy.

Her orgasm crashed into her like an unseen assailant, and tore his name from her lips in ragged breaths while he rode through it, a merciless smile hidden in the curve of her neck.

“I-I…” Her voice trailed off a moment, then she refocused, though her words were punctuated with his strokes driving the breath from her. “I su-suppose you’re proud-d of yours-s-self?” She asked in mock indignation.

“Quite,” he replied softly. He could feel his own release rushing up on him, and knew he didn’t have long. _Do not miss heaven by ilms,_ he reminded himself. 

“Aah, but beloved,” he murmured into her skin, “We have much more work to do, thou and I, ere we are finished.”

“What d-do you mean-n?” She asked, her body still rocking with his thrusts and the aftershocks of her own orgasm.

“Any experiment worth its place amongst the scientific canon…” he growled, fighting off his own climax just a moment longer, “is replicable.” With that last warning given, he took command of their mingled aether again, and brought her another orgasm, just before losing control and flooding her body with his seed.

* * *

Urianger stood by the window, watching his beloved walk towards the Wandering Stairs arm-in-arm with Y’shtola. As soon as she vanished below the canopy, he whispered, “Feo Ul.”

A shard of the King of the Fae appeared beside him, looking out the window. “Hello, Urianger. How is my sapling?”

“Well, as far as mine own knowledge of her reaches, at least, though she goeth now to dine with her dearest friend, to whom she may bare more.”

“Do you want me to spy on them?” Feo Ul’s tone was dubious.

“Nay, my lady, she hath a right to privacy.”

“Then why have you summoned me hence?” The pixie seemed subdued, now, compared to her behavior before her ‘coronation’, as it were. “You’ve got that serious grumpy scholar face on.” Maybe not quite that subdued.

“My beloved tells me that thou canst travel betwixt the Source and the First, taking items and news. Couldst thou do the same for me?”

“News, yes. Items, no,” she replied. “I can only take and bring things to her because she is actually here, and her tie to those items is strong.”

He stood silently for a moment, rubbing his chin. “Couldst thou bring an item that she knoweth not is already hers?”

Feo Ul shrugged. “I could try, that’s all I can say.” 

“Very well. I wouldst like to strike a bargain with thee, in which thou wilt take three messages unto the Source, and attempt the return of an item that I wouldst give to her.” Urianger’s ire at making deals had cooled considerably with regards to Feo Ul. Though it was not wise to deal with pixies in general, Feo Ul had pushed him to confess his love, and in return he had received all that he had yearned for, and more. He owed her his trust. “What wouldst thou have?”

Feo Ul hovered in the air beside him. “I would have a boon. You will owe me one great work of your magic, something that would tax you to the brink, for me to call upon when I need it.”

“As thou wilt have it,” Urianger said, turning from the window. “Now, the messages I require thee to send. The first shall go to Tataru Taru, the administrator for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. The second shall go to my housekeeper, Madame Megarette. The third shall go to my brother, Etienne Augurelt, husband of Lady Ceillianne Durendaire of Ishgard. My brother shall provide thee with the item I hope to have brought to the First.”

* * *

The moon was high, a widening crescent, when the Champion returned from dinner. She pushed open the door quietly, but was surprised to find Urianger was not already asleep. He sat on the windowsill, looking up at the shining orb, lost in thought.

He turned to face her, and held out one hand towards her. “My beloved.” 

She went to him, and he wrapped an arm around her and returned to his vigil. His heart was thundering in his chest, and he wondered, not for the first time, if he was about to rush the fence.

“Mine entire life hath been an exercise in circumspection,” Urianger said. He realized he couldn’t look at her, he was too anxious. He could only hold her close, and say what he had been working towards, longer than he realized. “Every choice, every decision, calculated unto oblivion, until I am sure that the road I walk be the most likely to succeed at mine endeavors. Ne’er have I questioned what I sought at the end of that road. Until thee.”

He felt her start to pull away, but he tightened his grip, and forced himself to look at her. “Loving thee… it is not easy, or safe. It greatly obstructs any meaningful research, taketh me away from my books, landeth me in the least comfortable situations.” Tears began to well in his eyes. “No matter what calculations I run, I see naught but struggle before us.” He kissed her, roughly, and he could taste rising tears in her mouth. 

“But my heart will have none other, and I will not deny myself. Not now. Else… what is all this work, all that I have dedicated my life to, for, if I wilt not, at the end, dedicate myself to my desiring?” He kissed her again, inhaling the scent of sandalwood as if it could give him the courage to forge ahead.

“I told myself that I would await the end of this trial. That I wouldst put off my decision until thou wert unbound, until the Lightwardens were slain…” He lost his words again, staring at the way the moonlight caught in her hair. “But I realized, after thou had departed from me, that there will never be a perfect time. Thou art the Warrior of Light, the Warrior of Darkness, The Champion of the Source, Primal-slayer, Ascian-slayer, and savior of worlds. Even an we save the First, a war with Garlemald still awaits thee in the Source. Another adventure, another primal… there will always be something to pull thee into danger and adventure.”

“But I remember what my father told me, ere he died, when he sent me off to Master Louisoix to begin my training: ‘Once thou knowest thy path, thou hast no choice but to walk it.’” Urianger slid his hands down her back, savoring how _real_ she was before him. No mere midnight imagining that would leave him with empty arms. He met her gaze and he swallowed nervously. “I know my path, dear heart. It has ever led to thee. I have asked thee before, to let me follow in thy wake. Now I ask, with all sincerity - Let me walk beside thee. Share your trials and tribulations with me.” 

He pressed the ring Feo Ul had fetched from the Source, his mother’s old Sharlayan band of gold, inscribed with the symbols of the Twelve, into the palm of her hand. “I beg thee, beloved. Marry me. The _Binding_ , the Lightwardens, my being trapped here on the First, the war with Garlemald… we will face them all on our road, together. Be thou my wife, and I will walk with thee into perdition, again and again, until the last star falls from the firmament.”

Urianger was startled when she began crying, and for a moment he feared he had upset her, but she flung arms around him and cried, “Yes, yes, yes!” over and over, stopping only to kiss him while he slipped the ring onto her finger. 

Later that night, when sleep finally overtook them, the only thing Urianger could think was, _Mine._


	16. Amh Araeng, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger and the Warrior of Light head into Amh Araeng with Minfilia and Thancred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this out. Work's been really busy recently, and I actually do take breaks from writing to play FFXIV some times. hahaha. There will probably not be another chapter until Saturday or Sunday, it's my own Urianger and I's anniversary this week.
> 
> *** Editing Errors should be fixed now. ***

Dawn found Urianger and his fiancee at the gates to Lakeland, ready for travel. She had opted for her machinist’s leathers again, and he greatly approved of how the fingerless gloves let the ring, his mother’s ring, _her_ ring, catch the early morning sunlight. He knew the mission they were about to undertake was somber, but he could not stop the secret celebration in his heart. 

The smile fell from her face at the sound of approaching footsteps, and they turned to see young Minfilia approaching. “I’m ready now,” the girl said to the Champion.

His beloved took one of Minfilia’s hands in her own. “And you’re sure you want to do this? Completely sure?”

Minfilia sighed. “Look… no matter what happens to me, I’m sure I don’t want to go back to being who I was.” The champion squeezed her hand, and her understanding smile was tight with worry as the girl continued. “I want to be stronger - strong enough to face my destiny. And I want to believe I can play a part in _saving_ this world.” She smiled ruefully. “I hope you can find it in yourself to believe it, too.”

The Warrior of Darkness’s arms wrapped about Minfilia in a tight hug, causing the girl to take a step back, and Y’shtola called out, “When you put it that way, how could we not?” The Miqo’te approached, with Alphinaud and Alisaie trailing in her wake. “It is your decision to make, just be sure that you are prepared, when the time comes.”

Thancred approached, his head low, and Urianger nodded to him. “If all are assembled, shall we depart?”

“We’ll follow your lead,” the Hyur grumbled, still displeased. “What route would you have us take?”

“About that,” Alisaie interrupted, “There’s something I neglected to mention.” Everyone turned to her, and Urianger put an arm around his fiancee’s shoulders. “I saw a Eulmoran airship coming in to land over Amh Araeng while I was on my way back to the Crystarium. No doubt the same vessel that bore Vauthry’s forces to Rak’tika.”

Alphinaud sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Meaning we can expect to encounter armed resistance on our journey through the region.”

Alisaie nodded in agreement. “Right. Now,” The girl pulled out a faded map, to show everyone, “Naabeth Areng lies in the southern reaches of Amh Araeng, and there are two routes we can take to get there. The first is the Eastern Route,” She traced her finger along the right hand side of the page, “which would lead us past Mord Souq. The other…” She switched hands, and gestured down the left of the page. “Is the Western Route, which would require us to pass through the Hills of Amber.”

Thancred nodded. “Minfilia and I took the eastern route last time.”

“Yes,” Alisaie said, “that’s the more well-trodden path, it also makes for easier traversal of the Naabeth Severance.” She looked down and sighed. “But we can’t use it…”

Alisaie continued on, explaining how she wanted to keep the Eulmorans from attacking a place dear to her, the Inn at Journey’s Head. Though Urianger had never heard of it, his beloved nodded in understanding. In the end, she proposed they split into two groups - one to distract the Eulmorans in the east, and one to slip Minfilia through the Hills of Amber in the West.

When Alphinaud insisted on joining his sister, Minfilia made a small, almost imperceptible noise. Urianger glanced over, and saw Y’shtola and the Champion’s eyes meet over the girl’s head, before Y’shtola spoke. 

“I will accompany you as well. It will afford us a chance to have a proper conversation.” The Miqo’te was smiling at Alisaie, but her hard aetherial gaze was on Alphinaud for a moment, before it turned to Thancred. “And if I go with the others, I’m likely to say something Thancred will regret.”

Thancred shrugged irritably, giving Y’shtola a steely glare. “Well then, we’ll leave the work of distracting Vauthry’s forces to you. The rest of us will take the western route, and try to avoid attracting attention.” His voice was venomous as he turned away from her, and Urianger felt the Champion tense beside him as a flicker of hurt passed through her dear friend’s face - just a ghost of an emotion, there and gone again.

Urianger felt his beloved pull away, and she looped her arm through Minfilia’s as they walked, the two murmuring softly to each other while Thancred stormed out of the Crystarium into Lakeland proper. Urianger glanced to the Champion, who nodded her approval, and he took off after his friend.

“I take it thou didst not enjoy thy day of rest?” he asked, falling into step beside Thancred.

“Why would I?” he replied acidly, glaring at the ground as though it had stolen from him. Urianger said nothing, merely walking beside the man, until he continued. “Do you think she does it on purpose? _Needling_ me all the time?” There was no need to guess to whom he referred - Y’shtola’s presence could be felt, even now.

“I sincerely doubt she wouldst see it as ‘needling’,” Urianger mused. “The lady merely holds thee to a high standard. Thou shouldst take it as a compliment.” 

“A _compliment_?” Thancred scoffed, but looked away, silent for a heartbeat. “She’s infuriating.”

“A trait thou shareth,” he teased. “Forsooth, Thancred, I know it in the marrow of my bones - Lady Y’shtola holds thee in high regard. She believeth thou art capable of much and more, and tries her best to encourage thee. Admittedly, her encouragement could use some work, mayhaps…”

“ _Mayhaps_ ,” Thancred growled, “You know she and your… whatever that woman is to you now, they were betting on Alphinaud and _Minfilia_?”

“Truly?” Urianger raised an eyebrow. “But the girl be merely thirteen.”

“That’s my point!” Thancred yelled. “And they’re over there making bets on whether Alphinaud will figure out she’s got a crush on him before or after she comes of age. And whether or not either of them will do anything about it!”

“She has affections for him?” Urianger glanced back at his beloved where she walked with the girl. They were laughing, arm in arm, over some shared joke.

“Please, Urianger,” Thancred said dismissively. “You’re not that blind. If Y’shtola can see it, and your girlfriend can see it, I know even you, in your single-minded obliviousness, can.”

Urianger coughed. “Fiancee.”

Thancred stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“I… erm… may have…” He blushed, then looked back at her. She was still talking to the girl, but her ring flashed in the sunlight, and he grinned, turning back to Thancred. “I hath formally requested the lady’s hand yestereve, and she most graciously consented to bestow that honor upon me.”

To Urianger’s surprise, Thancred hugged him tightly, thumping him roughly on the back. “Congratulations! At least some good has come out of this mess.” When they broke apart and continued walking, his friend was grinning mischievously. “You know they’re going to be even more insufferable, if that were possible, now that they’re planning a wedding.”

“I do not believe the Lady Y’shtola knows, as of yet.” He said.

Thancred groaned. “That’s going to be fun. Also, Alisaie is going to lose her temper.”

“Gods,” Urianger nodded, “I had not even given thought to that circumstance yet.”

Thancred’s brow furrowed. “What about Etienne? I suppose she could take him a letter or something, but that would be gods-be-damned awkward. ‘Hullo, I’m the Warrior of Light. Also, your future sister-in-law.’”

“I have made a bargain with the King of the Fae. ‘Twas she who both delivered the news unto the Source, and retrieved my mother’s ring from Etienne,” Urianger clicked his tongue. “I wouldst not disrespect her by doing things improperly.”

“Are you two going to tie the knot here, or wait until you get back home?” 

Urianger shrugged. “She asked to wait to plan a ceremony until the Lightwardens were vanquished, and the corruption of her aether had stabilized. Once that settles, we shall be wed, regardless of circumstance.” He already knew the answer, however. If G’raha Tia’s plan worked, the Exarch would be dead, and they would all, save Minfilia, be back on the Source. 

Etienne’s reply, which Feo Ul had delivered, made it clear that he expected Urianger to have a high ceremonial wedding. Not for their family honor - most of the Augurelts were gone in the Calamity - but because that Ishgardian Lord, Aymeric de Borel, would take it as a grave insult if his heroic friend were not given a ceremony appropriate to her “station.” Apparently she was known and beloved in Ishgard as well. He only wished he were surprised.

* * *

Again, Urianger’s beloved’s luck seemed to surface at the most unexpected times. Her reputation preceded her into Garrick, a small village on the northern edge of the Hills of Amber, and they residents were only too willing to tell her of a trolley that could take her all the way to Naabeth Areng - if only it were working. So they headed further into the hills, towards the location of this trolley, hoping against hope that one of them might discern how to fix it.

When they arrived at the Mount Biran mines, the place _seemed_ deserted - if it weren’t for the fact that nearly everything was in good repair, and free of dust and cobwebs. Near the mine entrance, Urianger found a broken golem - what the natives of the first called a _talos_ \- that also showed signs of recent cleaning. He waved his fiancee over, to discuss it with her.

“Half-full glass of chilled tea, still cold, in the tavern,” She said meaningfully.

He nodded in confirmation. “Derelict, but clean, Talos, as well.” He gestured to the construct. “It is mine opinion that those who while away their time here are in hiding, not absent.” 

“We should get the others,” she said, turning to go, but he caught her hand at the last second.

“Wait,” Urianger said, and she turned to look at him. “Our work is important, truly, but thou and I should take advantage of every opportunity afforded us.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In what way?”

He pulled her close and kissed her, and she laughed. “You’re insatiable, Urianger. You had me for hours yesterday.”

“Aye,” he responded, holding her close and kissing the top of her head. “But divide thee that over the eight years I wish I could have given thee, and I find myself still woefully in debt.”

Thancred coughed, loudly. “Can you two keep it together for an _hour_ , at least?”

“He started it,” the Champion said, grinning maliciously.

Thancred gave a long-suffering sigh. “Well, it appears that everything’s in working order.”

Minfilia shrugged. “Maybe, but I can’t operate any of the controls.”

Urianger sighed. “From what I have discerned, it appeareth that no _person_ is meant to.” He gestured to the Talos. “Alas, this specimen and its fellows now lie lifeless and broken, and I know not how to repair them that they might facilitate our passage through the gate to Naabeth Areng.”

“ _We_ might not know how to repair the Talos, but _someone_ must.” Thancred jerked his head pointedly, and Urianger followed his gaze towards the warehouses on the northwestern side of the tracks. He could see sudden movement in the shadows, and when he glanced towards his beloved, the tilt of her chin told him she saw it as well. “Let’s ask them what it is, shall we?” 

The grin Thancred and the Champion shared made Urianger groan internally. Within a few short moments, the two of them had managed to pin all three of the people skulking about the mine entrance near the tavern, and Thancred gave the hero an enthusiastic high-five. “Let’s see what they have to say for themselves.”

“Us?!” One of the men cried out. “We’re not the brigands come to… to take what isn’t ours!”

Thancred sighed. “Do we honestly look like we’d need to steal -” he paused and looked at the equipment, then turned back to the three men, clearly unimpressed, “what, some rusted bits of iron? Don’t be absurd. We’re not here to _rob_ you.”

“A likely story!” the same man said, “You look, well…” he paused, and took a moment to let his eyes sweep over the group. “You don’t look _normal_ that’s for certain. You don’t have any wares, so you’re clearly not merchants. Travelers never pass this way. The only reason you would come all the way out here is to strip the machinery for parts.” He shrugged.

“Oh! Thaffe! I have an idea,” another of the men, this one relatively young, with blond hair tucked into his cap, said. “What if, once upon a time, a lovely lady of noble birth ventured forth in search of her lost love,” he gestured to Minfilia, “joined by her two most loyal servants,” he moved to gesturing at the Champion and Thancred, “sworn to follow her unto world’s end. On their journey, they met a sorcerer,” here, his wild movements seemed to be indicating Urianger, “as ancient as time itself. _Moved_ by the Lady’s devotion, he offered to be their guide and they…” The boy paused for a moment, as if lost in thought, then shrugged, “... turned up here, somehow!”

Thancred sighed, wearily. “... I can only assume that you’re being intentionally obtuse, but in the _unlikely_ event that that’s a serious conjecture - no.” The Hyur eyed the boy, who was not looking at him, but behind him. Thancred turned to find Urianger smiling down at his beloved, while Minfilia’s hands were clasped before her breast in starry-eyed wonder.

Urianger glanced up from the Champion’s loving gaze with a smirk. “I would fain hear more of this ageless sorcerer and his heroic deeds.”

Thancred pressed a fist to his forehead. “Gods, grant me strength…”

* * *

The two conscious men - for the Champion had beat the third into submission so badly he found himself dazed beyond sensibility - led them back to their village, Twine, within the western mountains of Amh Araeng.

There they met a surly Hrothgar, named Magnus, whom Thaffe and Jeryk, the fanciful boy, said was the only one who knew how to repair the Talos. Though Magnus refused to help him, something in his demeanor told Urianger that his refusal was out of some personal issue, not that it could not be done.

The Champion, ever looking for some way to keep busy, offered to help Jeryk with maintaining the tracks, while Minfilia went to speak with various villagers, hoping to learn more of Magnus’s story. 

After she left, Urianger discovered another derelict Talos underneath the trolley station in Twine. He set about examining it, and soon discerned that the first order of business for its repair would be to fix the aetheric channels that ran through the construct, giving instruction on its function.

Jeryk and the Champion returned, laughing companionably, and Urianger waved them down. 

“Aah, there thou art,” he said to her. “I have unraveled the first mystery of repairing this Talos, but I will need thee to go and collect some things for me.” He flipped to a blank page, and wrote a quick list, then tore it out of his journal and handed it to her. “Thou shouldst be able to secure the materials from the debitage that frequent the area.” 

“I’ll be back, Urianger,” she said, tucking the list into the pocket of her blouse. “Jeryk, don’t let him talk your ear off.” Urianger grinned ruefully at her as she headed off, back into the wilderness.

“So…” Jeryk mused, leaning against one of the support beams for the platform above, “Are you an ageless sorcerer? Is she your assistant?”

Urianger laughed, focused on his notes. “If anything, I am assistant to her, I fear.”

“She is quite beautiful,” the boy said, staring in the direction she had headed before vanishing from view. “Is she single?” He chuckled.

Urianger slowly closed the journal, and turned his steely gaze on the boy. “She is _engaged_. To _me_.” 

“Engaged isn’t married _yet_.” Jeryk said, taking off his cap and straightening his hair. “You’d better watch your back, old man.” The boy grinned, but Urianger felt his temper flare. 

He reached for Jeryk, _How dare he, How dare he?_ the only thought in his mind, until Thancred suddenly stepped between them.

“You’d think you’d be smarter than to try to move in on an ancient sorcerer’s wife…” Thancred drawled, casting a wary eye over his shoulder at Urianger.

“She’s not his wife _yet_ ,” Jeryk pouted.

Thancred sighed, “And you should thank your lucky stars for that, boy, because if she were, he’d have killed you for walking with her alone. Sorcerers are like _Ascians_ ,” this, Thancred hissed more directly at Urianger, “extremely possessive, no sense of humor.”

The comparison brought Urianger up short, even as Jeryk asked Thancred what an Ascian was. He returned to his notes, rubbing his head. Thancred had a point. Emet-Selch was extremely controlling and possessive, treating the Champion as a pet or an object he could _loan out_ to others as it suited him. Further, she was the Warrior of Light, and the Warrior of Darkness. Other people would always try to lay claim to her time and attention, and her heroic deeds would draw many admirers.

 _No wonder that other Urianger from G’raha Tia’s path kept his involvement with her work secretive. ‘Tis the only way I canst envision that she might get a reprieve from the public,_ he thought, and he relaxed a little bit. Still, he did not like the boy being so forward, especially after having been told that the Champion was taken.

Not long after, Urianger saw his beloved’s form appear just inside the gates, and she made her way toward him triumphantly carrying a pile of rocks that positively hummed with aetherial energy. He approached her, and glanced back to Thancred, who was still lecturing Jeryk under the trolley platform.

Seeing a brief reprieve, he slipped one arm about her waist, and the other around the back of her neck. He kissed her roughly, biting her lower lip and tugging softly for a moment, before whispering in her ear, “Thou art _mine, minette_.” She laughed but he pulled her closer, revelling in the scent of sandalwood. “Say it, I beg thee.” 

Her arms snaked around his neck. “I’m yours, Urianger,” she said, then chuckled, digging her fingernails into his shoulders. “And you’re _mine_.” Her words caused the tension to fade away from Urianger, and his heart lightened. When he straightened, she was watching him, her eyes guarded. “What happened?”

Urianger blushed, scratching the back of his neck and looking askance. “The boy. Jeryk.” She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing, so Urianger continued. “He inquired after thee, and when I expressed that thou wert my fiancee, he announced his intention to compete with me for thy hand as engaged be not yet married.”

She giggled. “I almost feel bad for the boy. Unfortunately for him, I have a type.”

“My lady?” It was Urianger’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know…” she grinned wickedly. “Ancient, ageless sorcerers who would tear apart the heavens for me.” The Champion kissed his cheek and pulled away, already heading towards Thancred and the Talos. Though he knew it was a joke, a reference to the boy’s fanciful imaginings, his blood still froze in his veins at the thought of another it described: Emet-Selch. Urianger had only been engaged to her a day, and already had nearly struck a child who had suggested he might come between them.

How far might the Ascian go, once he realized Urianger was an actual threat?


	17. Amh Araeng, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger and the others prepare the Talos for the journey to Nabaath Areng, and have a lot of feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! I got this chapter out a little sooner than I was expecting! I hope you all enjoy it!!
> 
> I'm going to TRY to get another chapter out before Monday, but no promises.

Though applying the aether-soaked stones from the debitage was easy enough, the Talos still refused to stir. Upon further examination, Urianger determined the issue was a malfunction or impurity within the core of the Talos, which would require dismantling the whole damnable thing again, just to access it. As he began slowly removing the metal plating that held portions of the Talos together, Urianger could sense his beloved standing over him.

He turned and looked up at her, shielding his eyes from the endless Light overhead. “What troubles thee, dear heart?”

“You should apologize.” Her face was closed off from him; her emotions - normally painted in broad, bright strokes on her face - were hidden behind the mask of the Champion of the Source. She swallowed. “You should apologize to Jeryk.”

Urianger scowled, and stood. “Wherefore? The boy made a mistake, ‘tis true, but then he persisted in his folly and offered both thee and I insult by insinuating thou art easy to sway in matters of love. A taste of my temper was but his due, my lady.”

“Perhaps.” She pursed her lips. “But the man I fell in love with is more interested in teaching others than terrifying them.” She turned on her heel and walked away, towards young Minfilia.

He sighed, and could feel his scowl deepen. What right had she to demand he apologize for defending her honor? Urianger glanced to her, but her back was to him, ramrod straight. He turned his gaze to Thancred, and saw the man scowling at him as well. He rubbed his temples, softly. _I am surrounded by twelve-forsaken fools,_ he thought, then pulled himself up short, looking down at his hands. What was happening to him? When had he become so… angry? So much like Emet-Selch?

_First, I will apologize to the boy. Even an I believeth not he deserve one, my lady hath asked it of me, and it is a small thing, to avoid her displeasure,_ Urianger thought. He cast his eye about, and saw Jeryk watching him fearfully from behind the tavern. 

When Urianger approached, the boy cowered back a few steps, but the Elezen held up his hands. “I am not here to chastise thee, Jeryk. I am come to apologize.”

“W-what?” Jeryk swallowed anxiously, and took another step back, but his shoulders lowered a bit.

Urianger sighed. “I was too short-tempered with thee. Thou art a boy, and it should come as little surprise to any of us, least of all mine own self, that thou wouldst find my beloved intriguing. However, I hath waited…” He looked up at the Light-brightened sky. “I hath waited years for her, and now she be mine, though it were not easy, and the road ahead be harder still. There is another who seeks to claim her, and he is a much more dire threat than thee. I fear that in the moment, I found thee naught but a convenient target for the ire that he doth inspire within me.”

Jeryk relaxed a little. “Your friend said that you were going to kill me if I so much as looked at her again…”

Urianger laughed. “I fear thou shalt find that me and mine art all given to our own versions of dramatics. My beloved ever plays the hero, even unto her own detriment. The Lady Minfilia is prone to long, introspective silences and the skittish timidity common to girls of her age. And my dear friend Thancred suffers eternally from love - both the lady he has lost, and one he does not know he has.” He gave Jeryk a rueful smile. “Perhaps we are, in a way, a fairy tale - though let not my companions hear you utter aught about it, lest I am forced to reconsider sparing thee.”

Jeryk smiled weakly. “You fix the Talos, and I’ll consider us square.”

Urianger nodded. “I am making every attempt, for our quest doth require us to head to Nabaath Areng, but I seem to have encountered a trouble, and wouldst appreciate thy assistance.”

* * *

Jeryk’s examination of the Talos came to much the same diagnosis as Urianger’s own - the core that controlled its flow of aether had failed, and must be replaced. After some conversation, Jeryk admitted that Magnus was the key to fixing the Talos. After some cajoling, Jeryk tried to tell them the Hrothgar’s tale, but in the end could not bear to, and so sent them to Thaffe, in the Tavern.

“Still here, eh?” Thaffe said as they entered. “You can ask again, but the answer’s the same. Our trolleys are-” 

He was cut off by the Champion, who explained they were here to learn about what had happened to Magnus, having already fixed the rest of the Talos, and now only in pursuit of a proper core.

As soon as she mentioned Jeryk had started to tell them, but become too afraid, Thaffe scowled. “What? Godsdamnit Jeryk…” The man sighed. “Gather round, I’ll tell you what I know.”

He told them Magnus’ tale in full - how the Hrothgar had come to Twine with his wife and child, then his son was killed by sin eaters, and his wife died in a mine collapse seeking the very same thing they did now - a core for the derelict Talos.

They were all quiet a long time, until Thancred spoke up. “Where is he, if you don’t mind my asking?”

* * *

Urianger watched from a careful distance as Thancred spoke with Magnus. He could not hear what they said, but he had no desire to. He had grieved for Moenbryda, Thancred still grieved for their Minfilia; and he feared too soon, he may grieve for the Champion. He knew she would probably leave his side when the truth of his deception was known, but he could not turn back. Even if it were but for a glorious instant, he would delude himself into living in a world where the two of them could have forever, and all the dreams that came with it.

When they returned to Thaffe, he sighed. “I wish there was more we could do for you, I truly do. But after Agna's accident, no one is allowed near those mines.”

Urianger nodded. “Full well do I know the pain of loss and how heavily it can weigh on one’s heart. Nevertheless,” he put an arm around the Champion’s shoulders, squeezing her softly, “There is but one way forward. We must needs procure a new heart for the Talos.”

Thaffe looked away, but Urianger continued. “Thaffe. Knowest thou any location wherein we might find the stone we require? No matter how scant the possibility, we _would_ seize it.”

“I suppose, if you really wanted to try,” Thaffe said, “you may find something at Nuvy’s Leavings.”

Thaffe told him the path to reach it, and the Champion was already tightening the buckles on her armor in preparation to depart when Urianger took her aside. “Beloved. I think it best that Thancred join thee in this search. Though he wouldst be quick to deny it,” he looked over at his friend, who was leaning against the bar, trying his best not to look at the full bottles behind it, “His heart is in turmoil, and his thoughts clouded. ‘Twould be unwise to ignore his distress. I prithee attend Thancred and keep him occupied with the task at hand.”

She nodded, and went to go, but he stopped her a moment longer, just staring at her. There were so many things he wanted to say, haunted by Magnus’s and Thancred’s and his own grief as he was - so many things he wanted to tell her. In the end, he settled on the only thing that mattered. “Pray, returneth to me in safety, my dear.” He stroked his thumb over her cheek, and glanced at Thancred, before looking back at her. “There but for the grace of the Twelve go I.”

* * *

While his beloved was gone, Urianger ensconced himself in the tavern in research. Minfilia came to check on him occasionally, but rarely stayed. He knew something was wrong. Something had changed, fundamentally, within himself, and he didn’t know what. He was more temperamental, more brash, more like Emet-Selch. Was the Champion’s half-hearted joke truth? Would loving her make him an Ascian?

He looked down at his hands and considered the possibility. Though he and Elidibus disagreed on many things, most fundamentally, they had been able to maintain something of a working relationship for quite some time. He outright disliked Emet-Selch, but he wondered how much of that dislike stemmed not from the man’s personality, but from his connection to both Garlemald and the woman caught betwixt them. He feared, in some secret part of his heart, that they had more in common than he would like to admit, and were circumstances different, the Ascian would have been a trusted colleague, if not a friend. 

He knew, without even having to ask himself, that he would choose her over preventing the Rejoining. If he were ever placed in the position of having to choose - be an Ascian, or lose her… Urianger was surprised that the decision wasn’t even _difficult_. He would choose her, and all the people of the Source and its reflections be damned.

Urianger shook his head. This wasn’t _like_ him. Something was wrong. With a sigh he flicked his vision to the Aetherial and examined himself. All his Aether was as it should be - that same, soft golden color that was as familiar to him as his own visage in the mirror. Even the Aetheryte pendant he wore beneath his robes was - 

He stopped, and raised his hand to his chest, touching the pendant softly. It was the same color as the rest of his aether, which could mean only one thing - they had finally achieved a sympathetic aetheric resonance. Urianger wondered idly when it had happened, but he reached for the book on the _Binding_ , eager to confirm he was not mistaken.

To his joy, the description of what a sustained aetheric resonance was like matched what he was currently experiencing - an inability to distinguish one’s own aether from that of the other. He took note of the other signs, and felt a private delight at each and every one. There were few aetherological mysteries he had not yet pursued, to check this one off the list was delightful. He paused, his finger lingering over the last two - emotional resonance and increased aether capacity. _Emotional resonance…_ he pondered, dragging his finger down the page. It made sense on paper, but the Champion seemed to tolerate, and even slightly disapprove of his possessiveness outside of the privacy of her bedchamber - why did he feel more possessive of her now? He resolved to speak to her of the matter later.

Urianger toyed with the edge of the page a moment, contemplating the second, increased aetheric capacity. Though boyish pursuits rarely enticed him at his age, he could not help but grin as he leaned against the bar. “Thaffe, pray, forgive the interruption… might thou have a collection of emptied bottles thou wouldst not mind destroyed? I must needs do some experimenting.”

Thaffe seemed eager enough to assist, even coming out into the hills to set up the bottles in a neat line away from the village. Jeryk and Minfilia came out to watch him as well, eager for a display of the ‘ancient sorcerer’s’ might. The boy made a few flirtatious passes to Minfilia, but she seemed oblivious to his advances, and he soon gave up.

Urianger was rarely so profligate with his magic as to give a demonstration outside of academic institutions - he had little need to prove his skill to anyone since he developed the summoning of the amber carbuncle - but he found himself in a good humor, and hoped the Twelve might turn a blind eye to just a _touch_ of profligacy. 

He did a few test shots, first, casting the most basic form of the _Malefic_ cantrip upon the first bottle. To his surprise, not one, but three of the bottles shattered. _Increased Aetheric capacity indeed…_ he thought. 

Minfilia clapped in delight. “Urianger! That was amazing!” She hopped down from the rock she had perched upon, and ran to his side. “I didn’t realize you could do _that_.” She crouched to inspect the broken bottles.

“Thou wilt see much and more of my magicks, I wager, ere our quest is complete, my lady,” Urianger said, grinning. 

She clapped excitedly. “Is this the same kind of magic Alphinaud practices?” Minfilia seemed to have forgotten herself a moment, because she immediately blushed, and gave an off-hand shrug. “Just out of curiosity… Not…” 

Urianger patted her head affectionately. “Yes and no, my lady. Alphinaud practices a different branch of the same school. If thou art interested in learning more, I wouldst ask him directly. I fear I am many years past my studies, and act more upon instinct than education at this point. He, still being in the midst of his learning, wilt be much more capable of a thorough explanation than I.” Urianger’s grin turned impish as he thought, _Thancred, thou wilt kill me for this, but I fear I canst not resist the urge for the entertainment. I be no better than either of the ladies._ “Mayhap if thou art interested, young Alphinaud might even consent to teach thee the basics, so thou might useth more than just the daggers. As one who wields the Echo, thou art predisposed to magicks, which Thancred is the least equipped of us all to teach.”

Minfilia lifted her hand to her chin, and looked askance in thought, but then her face fell, and she closed her eyes. “Maybe I should focus on the mission ahead of me before making plans for the future,” she said, quietly.

“My lady,” Urianger said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We, the Scions, fight for the future. For those we have lost, and those we can yet save. Thou shouldst plan, and dream, for it is from those hopes of a brighter future that thou wilt draw strength to face the more immediate trial before thee.”

She looked up at Urianger and nodded. “Very well. If we survive this, I will ask Alphinaud to teach me magic.” She looked at the remaining bottles. “Show me something amazing.”

Urianger bowed. “As my lady commands.”

It was a rare instance when Urianger could tax himself to the brink. Usually his aether became drained from frequent, repeated use, not a single powerful spell. _Muscles unused oft atrophy,_ he reminded himself. He felt a heady rush as he began to pull deeply on his aether, for though it normally felt like pulling water from a well, one slow bucket at a time, it now came giddily into his control, like a newly discovered spring bubbling forth into his waiting hands.

_Because_ he so rarely used this much aether, it took Urianger a moment to realize he couldn’t stop. No matter how deeply he pulled, it just kept coming, and when he tried to stop it, more spilled over the mental barriers he attempted to erect, washing them away as it came upon him, faster and stronger.

_Twelve,_ he thought in fear, _I lack the capacity to control it._ He turned to warn the others to run, and froze in alarm. Behind Minfilia, Thaffe, and Jeryk, Emet-Selch leaned against the wall of Twine, in the shadows, a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face. Then something hard slammed into Urianger’s back, knocking him to the ground, and severing his connection to the aether he was calling.

Urianger clutched a tuft of grass and proceeded to vomit onto the rocks, shaking uncontrollably, but a hand grabbed the back of his robe and hauled him to his feet, and he span to find Thancred staring at him, furious. “We have to get her,” was all he said, before running back to the south.

“Th-Thaffe,” he said, trying to regain his composure. “Watch over Minfilia.” He took off after Thancred on shaking legs.

Thancred lead him to a collection of three large rocks, surrounded by bushes and scrubgrass. Hidden in their shadows, the Champion was curled into a ball, her breathing labored. Urianger knelt beside her, though his hands still shook, checking her over. 

“The lady ist aethersick,” he murmured, brushing her hair out of her face. “What magicks was she…” He trailed off, and realized he was about to vomit again. “I am a godsbedamned fool,” Urianger whispered to himself. He was an aetherologist. He knew the answer already. Excess aether needed to come from _somewhere_. That was why these resonances were used for rituals. Only one mage was truly doing the casting, the others were all but reservoirs for him to draw from. And so, as he had pulled from that internal well, he’d learned just how much power the Echo couldst provide, with his beloved able to do naught to stop him, not even a warning to brace herself before he nigh ripped the very breath from her lungs. Urianger tried to lift her, but he still trembled, both from the uncast magicks, and what he had done to her.

Thancred sighed and scooped up the Champion, who immediately curled in further upon herself and buried her face in his chest. “I’ll carry her back to Twine,” he said, “but you’re going to have to tend her. I can’t really do much about this.”

Urianger nodded feebly, drawing himself to his feet.

As they made their way back to the village, Thancred sighed. “I’m not going to scold you, Urianger. We’ve both done idiotic things in our lives. But I am going to tell Y’shtola, and _she_ will.”

Urianger ran a hand through his hair. “Pray, if a tongue-lashing from our dear friend ist the worst that comes from this, I will count myself a lucky man indeed.”

* * *

Thaffe had been kind enough to let Urianger ensconce the Champion in the back room of the tavern, on a pallet of straw. The Elezen sat beside her while she slept, wearily monitoring both their aether. Though he was fine, just momentarily shaken from an overabundance of power, she was drained to the last dregs, and required rest to regain her strength.

Aethersickness was a common malady amongst novices - nearly all experienced it at least once, and it was almost something of a rite of passage amongst mages. It occurred when one drew upon too much of their own aether, normally, but in this instance, Urianger had pulled nearly all that would come from her, and more besides.

Urianger leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of his fiancee’s breathing, and remembering the first time he’d experienced aethersickness.

>   
>  Moenbryda sat beside his bed, pressing a cool cloth against his forehead. 
> 
> He waved her away feebly. “Thou knowest that wilt do nothing.”
> 
> The Roegadyn laughed. “Well, I have to do something. I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer.”
> 
> He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
> 
> She laughed and said, “Urianger, you’re an idiot.” But she did not answer his question.  
> 

“Moenbryda…” the Champion whispered, and Urianger looked down to see her hand pressed to her forehead. 

“Beloved,” he murmured, and she put a hand on his thigh, levering herself up into a sitting position beside him.

She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. “I saw you, sick, and Moenbryda was tending you. Did you have this before?” She gestured to her own body. “What is it?”

“Aethersickness, my lady,” he said, shifting his arm around her back to pull her closer. “And I fear I am the cause of thy current affliction. I will explain in due course but… thou sawest myself and Moenbryda?”

She nodded. “Yes, the Echo does that sometimes.” 

Urianger stroked her hair. “That be the last sign I searched for, then, though I hath already reached the conclusion. Our aether doth resonate at last. And that is how I unintentionally afflicted thee with the aethersickness. I canst do naught but offer thee thy most sincerest apologies. It shan't happen again.”

Laughing weakly, she crawled her way into his lap, and took his hands in her own, wrapping his arms about her. “Forgiven,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

He chuckled. “Thou shouldst make me suffer more than that for my transgressions.”

“Why?” She asked. “I love you, and I would forgive you anything. I know you only have the best of intentions.”

Urianger’s mind snapped to his lies, and G’raha Tia’s plan nigh instantly. He swallowed hard. “Do not say such things, dear heart. The road to perdition be paved with good intentions. I fear thou shalt one day find my capacity for the underhanded will be too much to retain thy affection.”

“I fear you shall find that my capacity to forgive you will be more than enough…” Her voice faded, and he stroked her cheek as her breathing evened out again, until she began to snore softly, a sure sign she was asleep.

* * *

The Champion dropped the stone into Urianger’s hands, waking him from his own slumber. She seemed alright, and a quick glance at her aether told him that while she was not at her _best_ , she would be capable of caring for herself - not that he intended to let her - and should be right as rain on the morrow. Content with her condition, he turned his attention to the stone.

He ran his fingers over it, and read the inscription, then frowned. “Hast thou taken this to Magnus?”

“Thancred did,” she replied, “while I was out cold.”

“Aah. And?”

“He told us to do what we want with it, then went back to his bottle,” she shrugged disapprovingly.

Urianger rubbed his thumb over the inscription. “Let us be about it, then.”

* * *

As he approached the Talos, Urianger could feel the others’ eyes on him. While yesterday it had made him feel proud, even powerful, today he was nothing but weary. He hadn’t slept much the night before, and the Ascian’s smirk, just before Thancred had forced him to stop his casting, still floated in the back of his mind, and ominous reminder of worse yet to come.

Uriagner carefully placed the large chunk of leonine into the Talos, then reassembled the chassis. Taking a step back from it, he looked over their handiwork. “Preparations for the enchantment are complete,” he said, turning to Thaffe and Jeryk. “When the heart hath been suffused with a sufficient quantity of aether, the golem should be restored to life.”

Thaffe glanced anxiously at the Champion. “All right then. Whenever you’re ready.”

She moved forward and began to lift her hand, but Urianger stepped between her and the Talos. “Nay, my lady. Thou art still aethersick. I will take up this task.”

The Champion’s brow furrowed and she went to argue, but Thancred said, “Do you trust him, or not?” She swallowed, and stepped back, nodding her head in acquiescence; Urianger gave Thancred a grateful smile, and returned his attention to the Talos.

Urianger refused to repeat yesterday. Rather than attempt to draw up the whole well, he allowed but a small trickle of aether to pass from him, channelled into the leonine at the Talos’s heart. As he focused, he felt the Champion’s hand come to rest softly on his back. Though she supplied him no aether, he was comforted to feel her presence. He thought on Magnus and Agna, and wondered, not for the first time, if he would be able to continue his work if he lost his beloved. He prayed - to any god that would listen - that he would never have to know; that they would be _bound_ , that she would forgive him.

The sound of grinding pulled Urianger from his wistful prayers, and he smiled as the Talos slowly climbed to its feet.

“It’s working!” Thaffe cried. “It’s working!” They heard footsteps approaching, and he said, “M-Magnus…”

The Hrothgar approached, his face pained, and Urianger took a step back from the Talos, giving the man some space. “You left me for this?” Magnus whispered, his brows lowering in anger. “This wretched heap of stone and rubble…” The bottle fell from his hands, and he stepped closer, pressing his forehead to the Talos’s leg. “This worthless pile of earth?” His fist hit the Talos’s stones again and again. “And yet… I can’t… I can’t…”

Everyone looked away, then, giving Magnus a moment with his grief; Urianger folded his arms around his bride-to-be, clutching her tightly to his chest. He was running out of time, he knew. She would leave when she learned of his lies, and he had to make a choice - would he rather she love him, and die from the corruption; or hate him, and live? This choice, it seems, came easy to him as well - he would rather spend all the days of his life alone, be it on the First or the Source, knowing she was out there, somewhere, living, breathing, laughing, and hating him for what he had done, then have her star wink out, to be naught to him but a memory. He would accept any suffering, _any_ misery, for that.

The sound of footsteps caused Urianger to glance up - Minfilia was running off, toward the edge of town. When he looked back down, his beloved’s eyes were also following the girl, but then she looked at him, and quietly took a step back. He kissed her hand, then followed the child.

Urianger found Minfilia sitting on the top of a sheer drop at the edge of Twine, her knees pulled up to her chest. “What troubleth thee, child?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve to be. I don’t deserve _any_ of the things you’ve done for me!” Her voice cracked with the tears she was holding back. “I’m just a burden, helpless and hopeless. If tomorrow came and I was gone, It would be better for everyone!” She sniffled slightly. “Thancred most of all. He’ll never admit it, but I can see it in his eyes…”

Urianger wanted go grab her, and shake her. He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, but he stayed his hand. Far better she give voice to these doubts and seek comfort now, then go into the trial before her unsure.

“I wish he’d just say it - just say that he hates me!” Her shoulders shook, and she pulled in a breath, desperately trying to keep her sobs at bay. “That he wishes I was dead so that she could return!”

Urianger knelt beside her and rubbed the top of her head, gently. “ _None_ of this is thy doing, child.” He inhaled slowly, and confessed. “‘Twas _I_ who set the Oracle on her path unto the First. _I_ who condemned you all to suffer these torments. ‘Tis my sin alone, and one that will haunt me unto my dying day.” He swallowed and settled into a sitting position. “Yet, I dare not dwell overlong on my _many_ regrets, for the world is a tapestry of fates, interwoven and inseparable, and we who strive to better it cannot choose but make difficult decisions.” He closed his eyes, and saw the phantom of his nightmares, the Champion’s lifeless form, before him again. “For naught of worth was ever achieved without sacrifice.” And sacrifice, he would. He loved the Champion with every breath, every fiber of his being, every mote of his aether. He would sacrifice every happiness to know she yet lived. He opened his eyes again, and smiled ruefully at Minfilia. “And thus must man ever struggle to weigh life against loss.”

Minfilia looked up at him, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. He smiled down at her, and said, “The one for whom thou mournest beareth no grudge. Were she here, she would not suffer thee to languis in sorrow. She would tell thee to seek thine own path, thine own purpose.” He chuckled softly. “It is a truth which I myself was slow to learn. Yet a truth it remaineth.”

Urianger patted her head again, and smiled. “Thou needs but have faith. Have faith, and all will be well.” He only wished he could believe his own words.

* * *

As they walked along the tracks to the mines, Urianger felt his beloved’s hand slip into his. After a few moments of walking in silence, she smiled up at him. “You’re going to be an excellent father.” 

He laughed. “Thou givest me too much credit, I fear.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t think I give you enough. Sometimes I forget that you are just as capable as I am, even though you barely know which end of a sword to hold.”

“I am naught but a bumbling fool in _most_ things, _minette_.” His thumb brushed over the ring as he lifted her hand to his lips. “Though I know not why thou hast consented to be mine, I will not question thy lack of sense when it is to mine own benefit.” 

The entrance to the mines was much as they’d left it, though now the Talos stood behind the cart, braced to begin moving.

“Is this not the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen?” Jeryk cried. “Oh, if only I could capture this moment in a painting.”

The Champion climbed into the trolley with Thancred, and then the two of them reached down and pulled Minfilia up as well, then turned to him, but he stepped back. “Urianger?” the Champion asked, quizzically.

“Thou must needs carry on without me.” His beloved frowned slightly as he continued. “The path to Nabaath Areng lieth open. Whilst thou travelest thither to the south, I would apprise Mistress Alisaie and the others of our progress. As circumstances permit, I will thereafter rejoin the hunt for the remaining Lightwardens.” Her frown lightened, and she nodded in understanding. 

“Magnus,” Thancred called. “Will the gate close immediately after the trolley passes through?”

The Hrothgar, in surprisingly high spirits, shook his head. “No, it will stay open until someone closes it manually. Built that way to prevent any untimely accidents.”

Thancred nodded, and turned his attention back to Urianger. “Then you and the others can meet us in Nabaath Areng after giving the Eulmorans the slip.”

“Urianger,” Minfilia said, and he turned his attention to the child. “Thank you,” she said, her gaze earnest. “For everything.”

He smiled warmly. “Remember - thou needs but have faith.”

“If you’ve finished with your good-byes, I suggest you grab hold of something,” Magnus said, smirking at them all. “Be a shame if you took a tumble.”

The Champion leaned over the edge of the trolley, smiling. “Kiss for luck?” Grinning, Urianger stepped close, and pulled himself up by the trolley’s guardrail, bracing one foot on the runner. He slid his free hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her, revelling in the taste of her mouth, the heat of her skin, and the soft sigh when he finally pulled away. He knew this was it - his glorious instant. The future he yearned for but could not keep. And though he would not have it for long, he resolved to savor every moment.

Urianger climbed back down and nodded to Magnus, who gave them a quick wave. “Godspeed!”

Slowly, the trolley began to move, and Urianger glanced to Thancred. The two men exchanged nods - both of them knew what must be done - and then they were off, the Talos reaching its top speed and hurrying them along the track, and out of sight.

Magnus began ordering Jeryk and Thaffe about, giving them instructions, and Urianger bowed. “I fear I must take my leave. I hope that we shall meet again, and soon.”

The men of Twine nodded. “Come say hello on your way back through!” Jeryk said eagerly.

“I shall endeavor to do so, but my lady ever guides our steps.” He bowed and headed for the path to Garrick, leaving the men to their work.

* * *

As Urianger walked along the edge of the cliffs of the Hills of Amber, he reflected on how much the region reminded him of the Thanalan. He wondered if other places mayhaps reflected Eorzea as well. The Rak’tika Greatwood certainly bore a resemblance to the Shroud, and from the descriptions he’d heard, Eulmore might be an equivalent to Limsa Lominsa. Then that would make -

A flicker of movement at the edge of the peripheral caught Urianger’s eye, and he turned to see Emet-Selch, rage and triumph warring for control of his face, just as the Ascian’s hands closed about his neck.


	18. Amh Araeng, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet-Selch makes an offer, and the Champion slays the Lightwarden of Amh Araeng.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to flirt with disaster. Next chapter is going to be smut, so you've been warned.

“Don’t think - for a single moment - that I can’t kill you here and now.” Emet-Selch growled, and pushed off the edge of the cliff, floating in that unnerving manner common to Ascians, holding Urianger aloft by his neck over the chasm. “It is _only_ my _uxor’s_ continued desire for your existence that stays my hand.” 

He tossed Urianger onto a small outcropping of rock, some twenty feet below the cliff’s edge, and the Elezen felt a painful crack along his side as he hit the ground. Urianger placed his hand along his torso at the spot that hit, and inhaled. 

_Definitely broken,_ he thought, feeling the way his ribs moved unnaturally beneath his hand. Urianger reached for the aether, to heal himself, but he couldn’t summon it up. He became somewhat frantic for a moment, and reached, again and again… but no aether came. It was as if he was as blind to it as Thancred.

Urianger slowly climbed to his feet, and stared down the Ascian. “What, you didn’t realize?” Emet-Selch laughed. “The _Binding_ is a permanent aetheric resonance. By bringing yourself into resonance with my _uxor_ , you also brought yourself into resonance with _me_.”

He only wished he were surprised by the statement. It made sense, with everything else Urianger had learned, and explained his sudden bouts of anger and jealousy in recent days. Still, that was a matter to be sorted another day.

“What dost thou want?” Urianger asked, watching Emet-Selch warily. “Thou hast already declared thou art not here to slay me, else I wouldst already be spattered across the chasm floor. Though thou oft pretend to be a capricious entity, I know full well thou art the father of the Garlean Empire, and by thine own words thou hast declared that thou art always scheming and plotting.” He inhaled slowly, trying to draw some kind of strength from the pain in his side. “I have no doubt that thou hast done nothing without purpose since we first encountered thee at the Crystarium, which meaneth thou _hast_ a purpose, here. Ergo, I ask again, What dost thou want?”

“The same as I have ever wanted: the restoration of Zodiark; the adoration of my _uxor_ ; and the rebirth of my people.” Emet-Selch shrugged. “Though, in the end, all three are the same goal; not that you would understand.” He floated closer to the ledge, and placed a hand on his chin, eyeing Urianger. “But your little… obsession with her has rather thrown a wrench into my plans, you see. You’ve cut in on the dance between us, and I don’t like it.”

“What _dance_?” Urianger hissed. “Thou playest at being a god with the lives of millions, yet thou hast suddenly taken a keen and vested interest in the life of one woman? Most of thy compatriots seek to slay her.”

“Of course they do. She’s the one that did it, after all…” Emet-Selch smiled nostalgically. “Aaah…. _uxor mine_ ,” The Ascian swayed a bit in the air, talking to himself, “The source of all my joys and sorrows. The one thing that cannot be replaced, no matter what delights these reflections of yours produce…” He seemed to remember himself, and scowled at Urianger. “Yet here you are, trying to take that which has been mine since before the sundering of our eternal paradise.

“You are not the first paramour she’s had, of course. Every time she’s reincarnated, some new, lovesick idiot tries to woo her.” He waved his hand, as if conducting a symphony. “Then I appear, she rejects me in their favor, then I intimidate them, and they forsake her in fear. Eventually, she learns to love me, and I have her until her untimely death.” He sighed despondently. “It’s always untimely, you see. Be it Calamity or something else, her half of our soul cannot withstand being beside me for long. I tend to overpower her.” He winked playfully.

Urianger was sure that if he wasn’t in so much pain he’d throw up on the Ascian’s shoes. “Art thou implying thou wouldst not give her a choice?”

“Oh, I always give her a choice - her love is sweetest when given willingly - but it is the nature of the _bond_. She will always be caught in the current and dragged back to me. Once she stops fighting, for a time, I live but to serve her.” Emet-Selch eyed him. “You are the first who has not fled before me, who has not relinquished what is _mine_ when you were warned.”

As the Ascian drew closer, Urianger flinched away. _I canst do naught but wait for him to say his piece, and hope he leaveth without further violence. Without mine aether I am little more than a…_ Urianger glanced down at his feet. _a weak, middle-aged Elezen._

Emet-Selch’s feet came to rest on the ledge, and he lifted his arm, making Urianger wince in preparation for a blow, but to his surprise the Ascian stroked his face softly. “It’s actually quite endearing.”

“W-what?” Urianger asked, blinking at Emet-Selch in confusion. “Thou art…” 

“As I said, Elezen - I am not going to kill you. But she and I share a soul, and she obviously sees _something_ in you, which means at the end of all this we have but three options: I kill you; you abandon her; or we come to an… arrangement.” The Ascian lifted himself gently off the ground, and kissed him.

In Urianger’s mind, the Champion tasted like summer - chilled wine, petrichor, and fresh fruit - all carried on the scent of sandalwood, like the sort of offering one might make to a goddess of life and fertility. Emet-Selch tasted like an offering to a god of death - bitter chocolate, blood, and salt - while the man himself smelled of woodsmoke, and the promises of secret delights to be found in the depths of unrestrained hedonism.

He knew what the Ascian was offering: a place with both of them, _bound_ to both of them, caught up in their endless cycle of empire and chaos, struggle and Cataclysm, as Emet-Selch pursued the Rejoining, and the Champion fought to stop it, until there was no fight left in her, and she succumbed to him again. Urianger would have power - real power - the likes of which he could barely imagine. Every mystery would reveal its secrets at his command; he would not just watch the ages of the world unfold, but have a hand in guiding them to whatever end he pleased.

And his beloved would never - could never - forgive him if he accepted. Every time they were reborn, she would know that he had very nearly saved her from this madness, and at the last moment, had succumbed. While he doubted she would forgive him for his lies, he _knew_ she would never forgive him for the cowardice of accepting the easy, tempting road.

Urianger wrenched himself away from the Ascian, hissing at the exertion as his broken rib dug painfully into him. “Prithee, perhaps thou wilt consider a fourth option: thou shalt relinquish thy hold on her, unmake thy _binding_ , and see for ourselves whom she shall chooseth at the end.” He leaned against the cliff, sweat beading on his brow. Better to die here at the Ascians displeasure, than have to face her having chosen his offer.

“Pity,” Emet-Selch said, stepping back. “I _suppose_ I shall have to go about things Lahabrea’s way - take over your body and mind, and manipulate things more directly.” He groaned. “It will be so _tedious_ mimicking your pattern of speech.”

“Thou wilt not, though,” Urianger coughed, and as he pulled his hand away he could see red spots in his spittle. “‘Twould be admitting that thou cannot win her without _me_.” He straightened. “An if thou kill me, then thou art admitting that thou cannot win so long as I am by her side.” He licked his lips, still tasting the Ascian, but it held no temptation for him now - not in the face of her displeasure. “The only move left for thee, I fear, is to let me leave here unscathed, and try again to woo her honestly.”

Unbridled rage flicked across Emet-Selch’s features for a single heartbeat - then the ennui returned, and he shrugged. “You’re just stating the obvious now.” He glanced askance. “I’m bored. Good luck climbing back up.”

The Ascian vanished into the darkness, as was his want, and Urianger slid to the ground, shaking. He reached out for his aether, and sobbed in relief as he found it and used it to right his broken ribs. Alone on the side of the chasm, he gave himself a few moments to wallow in self-pity, wracking sobs shaking his frame. He had been so afraid, terrified to his very core, but he had still found the strength to stand, to pull away, and accept his fate. Perhaps the emotional resonance cut both ways - just as he felt Emet-Selch’s anger and possessiveness, he also felt the Champion’s courage and conviction. And he had made his choice.

* * *

“Twelve forefend,” Y’shtola cried, looking Urianger over. “What have you been doing?”

“Having a rather unpleasant conversation with the Ascian, I fear,” he replied. Though he’d used his aether to heal himself, and had managed to climb out of the chasm, the walk to Mord Souq had been excruciating.

Y’shtola smiled wearily, “Well, you survived, though I know not if it’s from magic or -” 

“Sheer, dumb luck,” Alisaie finished for her, frowning in disapproval. “Mayhaps he would not take such an interest in you if you didn’t go out of your way to provoke him.”

“Alisaie,” Alphinaud’s tone held a note of warning, then he turned his attention to Urianger. “How are the others?”

“When last I laid my eyes upon them, they were well on their way to Nabaath Areng where Lady Minfilia will speak to our Minfilia,” Urianger said. “I came hither to inform you all, and collect you to meet them within Nabaath Areng. I fear, regardless of the outcome, Thancred will need our strength.”

The three of them nodded in agreement, and Alisaie said, “I know a shortcut. Follow me.”

She led them to the part of Mord Souq that pressed up against the mountain, and he saw a small cave entrance high on the wall, with a climbing net beneath it. 

“Thou knewest of a shortcut, and thou didst not see fit to inform me of this before I walked all the way past Garrick, through the southern end of Lakeland, and took an Amaro to Mord Souq?” Urianger glowered at the girl.

Alisaie turned her head dismissively, her chin high. “Just because I am not interfering in your relationship with our dear friend does not mean I am going to go easy on you. She’d have found the shortcut and taken it without my having to tell her.” As she began climbing the net, Y’shtola and Urianger exchanged a meaningful look.

“How is Minfilia?” Alphinaud asked, watching Y’shtola begin her climb.

“The girl is as well as can be expected. She has much trepidation in regards to her trial; I can but hope my words of encouragement did aught to lift her spirits,” Urianger drawled, and was mildly amused as Alphinaud turned to face him fully. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? I feel so helpless, leaving her to face this alone,” the boy said. At the cave entrance, Alisaie rolled her eyes, while Y’shtola, still on the net, grinned down at Alphinaud.

“Mayhap there ist, my child. She hath expressed curiosity about magicks, and as my academy days are far behind me…” Urianger shrugged helplessly, and behind the boy, Y’shtola gave Urianger a thumbs up before continuing to climb.

“I would be happy to help!” Alphinaud said excitedly. “If… er… she…”

He took pity on the boy. “I have already told her to seek thee out when she is ready to learn.”

Alphinaud nodded and said, “I can only hope my tutelage will be a fraction as useful as yours,” then took his turn on the net.

* * *

_“THANCRED!”_ Y’shtola’s sudden cry, as they were exiting the tunnel to Nabaath Areng, pulled Urianger from his conversation with the twins, and he turned to see his friend lying unconscious in the dirt, the Miqo’te already rushing toward him, aether swirling about her.

Urianger ran over, the twins hot on his heels, and between the four of them, they managed to get Thancred up and walking again, though he looked like he’d been through every torment the Source and all its Reflections could offer since last they had spoken. The man leaned weakly against the steps, and wiped his mouth with the back of his fist, smearing blood.

“What happened to you, Thancred?” Y’shtola was standing over him, fists on her hips, teeth bared.

“Ran’jit,” he said, then cast an eye about the group. “I don’t know what you’re glaring at _me_ for, he was trying to stop Minfilia.” He paused, and swallowed. “I had to let her go.”

Urianger heard approaching footsteps, and turned to see his beloved walking toward them, her face pensive, the dust of Nabaath Areng clinging to her hair and skin. He knew something had happened, and the tightness in Urianger’s shoulders only worsened when he realized he didn’t immediately see young Minfilia.

“Ah, there you are. We were worried.” Thancred smiled to the Champion ruefully.

Alisaie snorted. “Really? _She_ wasn’t the one who nearly got herself killed.” Beside her, Alphinaud’s eyes were scanning their surroundings looking for something. _Or someone,_ Urianger thought, and he closed his eyes. _Oh, young man… thou art still too young for this sorrow._

“It’s a good thing Y’shtola called out to us when she did. You were at death’s door when we found you,” Alisaie continued, seemingly unaware of her brother’s growing distress.  
Thancred chuckled, more of a wheezing groan, given his state. “But thanks to your timely ministrations, I was not obliged to walk through it.” He paused, and stared at the Champion - no, passed the Champion. His eyes fixed on a nearby cart, and Urianger turned at the sound of a second pair of approaching footsteps. It was young Minfilia, but not - her eyes had lost their aetherial glow, and her once golden hair was now a coppery red.

The girl approached them, tentatively, and Urianger felt his fiancee stiffen beside him. _She feareth for the girl,_ he realized. _My beloved knoweth not what welcome she wilt receive, and even now prepares to fight us all for the child’s sake._ He smiled at her. _I thank the Twelve that won’t be necessary._

“Minfilia?” Alphinaud said, aghast. He raised a hand to his face.

Urianger’s gaze flicked to Thancred, and he gave his friend an affable smile. The man was staring at the girl, no anger or reprobation on his face. He closed his eyes a moment, and from his position Urianger could see a single tear slip out of the corner of Thancred’s eye - the only grief he could give Minfilia of the Source, when Minfilia of the First needed him now.

Thancred smiled. “You saw her.”

The girl swallowed and placed a hand on her chest. “I know I haven’t exactly been pulling my weight up till now, but that’s all going to change, starting today.” The words tumbled past her lips in a river, as if she was afraid that she could not say them if she did not push them out all at once. “I’ll do whatever it takes - _whatever_ it takes to make Minfilia’s dream a reality.”

Thancred slowly pushed himself off the steps and started walking toward her while she kept talking. “I can track the Lightwardens now. Maybe even help you fight them -” The Hyur placed his hand gently on the girl’s head, and she stopped, looking up at him.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, and smiled.

She looked away, anxiously. “You don’t have to say that, you know…”

Thancred chuckled. “But I want to. You’re family. How else would I feel?”

Beside him, Urianger felt the Champion relax, and he put his arm around her. Thancred _was_ a better man than most of them gave him credit for.

The girl began weeping, and Thancred put his arms around her, holding her with paternal affection while she cried into his chest. Behind them, Y’shtola smiled approvingly. “She will need a name.”

“A name?” Alphinaud asked.

“A name of her own,” the Miqo’te said. “I would not have her walk in the shadow of another any longer.” She tilted her chin up, daring any of them to gainsay her. “And I think it a fitting tribute to our departed friend, too. At the mention of Minfilia, I would remember the woman who preserved our fellowship when all seemed lost.”

Alisaie turned to the girl, who looked up from Thancred’s arms. “Do you remember what you were called, before you were taken to Eulmore?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I couldn’t have been very old when it happened.” 

“Then we must think of a new name,” Y’shtola said, pointedly looking at Thancred. “Suggestions?”

Everyone else’s gaze joined hers, including Urianger’s. _The first responsibility any father hath unto his child is to give them a name._ He squeezed his beloved closer to himself. Another dream for the future he could not have. A child of his own, carried beneath the bravest heart he knew. He banished the dream, forcefully setting it aside, and reminded himself that no amount of wishing would change the road they walked now.

Thancred suddenly realized that everyone was staring at him, and looked around in confusion.

“If the lady herself has no preference,” Alphinaud said, “I think the honor should rightly fall to Thancred. After all they have been through together, he’s practically a father to her.”

“Well spotted!” Alisaie said sarcastically, giving the boy a mocking grin. “I’m _so_ glad you’re here to explain these things.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Alphinaud turned to his sister, his face heating for another sibling squabble.

Thancred, meanwhile, turned his attention back to the girl before him, and thought for a moment. “What about… Ryne?” He asked.

The word sounded familiar, and Urianger wracked his memory. “Ah.” He settled upon it. “‘Blessing’ in Fae…” His eyes widened in shock, and he looked up at Thancred. “Wait! Doth this mean thou wert _listening_ when I delivered my lectures on the pixies!?” Beside him, the Champion raised a hand to her face and snickered.

“Not exactly,” Thancred declaimed. “But that one word made an impression.” The Hyur swallowed anxiously, his attention back on the girl. “Of course… if it’s not to your liking, I can think of something else.”

“Ryne…” She whispered, looking down at her hands. “Yes, I rather like the sound of that.” The newly-christened Ryne smiled up at Thancred. “Thank you.”

“That settles it then,” Thancred grinned. “Welcome aboard, Ryne!”

Ryne giggled. “I won’t let you down.”

* * *

Ryne’s newfound abilities were quite useful from the outset. She was able to guide them to the lair of the Lightwarden of Amh Araeng, a deep, circular pit called Malikah’s Well, which had once been used as a water source for a significant portion of the area.

As they descended deeper into the pit, Urianger could not help but feel proud of his closest friend - though Thancred had always been bad about discussing his feelings, he was as good and true as any of them - and he had chosen what Minfilia would have wanted: Ryne given a chance to live her life without the chains of the past - both the past of the First, and Thancred’s own.

The Champion was in her usual form, dancing amongst them, her gunshots punctuating their battles like the beat of some crazed drum. Before long, they found the Lightwarden slain at their feet, and she stepped forward to do her duty.

Urianger watched as the aether poured forth from what remained of the creature, pulled into his beloved like ships caught too close to a whirlpool. When the last of it had entered her, she stood, and turned to face him, all smiles.

“Urianger, I-” She began, but could not finish. The Light within her _pulsed_ and she doubled over, her teeth clenched and eyes wide. Urianger ran to her side, with Y’shtola only a step behind him. 

“Beloved,” he said, clutching her tightly. _Oh gods,_ he thought, _Is this task beyond even she?_ The Light pulsed again, and he felt her fingernails dig into his arm. “Y’shtola.” His eyes snapped to the Miqo’te just a step away. “Perform the _Binding_. She needeth aid to carry this -”

_”No,”_ the Champion’s voice was hard. “Not yet.” She straightened, and he watched in mingled horror and fascination as she pulled on her own aether, and he saw flickers of Emet-Selch’s darkness thread its way around the Light, and cage it. 

Y’shtola glanced between the two of them, hesitantly, before her gaze settled on the Champion. “Why not?”

“Not while I’m bound to Emet-Selch. If we do it now, then we’ll _both_ be stuck with him.” The Champion glanced at Urianger out of the corner of her eye.

_She knoweth,_ he realized. _She doth know the offer he made unto me._

“I won’t permit anyone else to be tied to him. It’s bad enough that I have to suffer it.” She chuckled, and released Urianger’s arm to touch his cheek. “You’re worth too much to me to see you go down that road.”

Together, they headed back out of the Well, and the Champion stayed close to Urianger all the while. When they finally climbed out, she smiled in relief at the stars overhead. 

“At _last_ ,” Alisaie said, coming to stand beside them. “Night has returned to Amh Araeng.” She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply, fighting back tears. “We’ll save this broken world yet, Tesleen. You see if we don’t.” The Champion put a hand on her shoulder, and Alisaie grinned.

Overhead, they spied the Eulmoran airships, departing the darkened skies. “No doubt retreating in the wake of the Warden’s demise,” Alphinaud said, a note of irritation in his voice.

“Back to Kholusia,” Y’shtola said. “The last refuge of Light.”

“Home to our _dear_ Lord Vauthry,” Thancred sneered. “Who will no doubt do everything in his power to thwart us.”

“As well he should,” Alphinaud said, turning to face the rest of them. The boy’s face was resolute. “For defeat there would spell the end for both him and his heavenly host.” His voice was harder than Urianger expected, and he found himself proud of the man Alphinaud was becoming - a man of conviction. “There,” he continued, “the fate of this star shall be decided.” 

As they headed out of Amh Araeng, Ryne fell into step beside the Champion. “Are you feeling alright?” the girl asked, eyeing her warily. “After you defeated the Lightwarden, I could swear I saw its aether-” She stopped as she realized everyone was staring at her. “Uh… nevermind.” She blushed. “I’m still getting used to my powers. It’s probably nothing.” She smiled weakly. “I’m just relieved I was right about where the Warden was hiding. The last one is hiding in Kholusia, isn’t it?” She looked to Alphinaud, who nodded. “I can’t feel it from here, believe it or not…” Ryne kicked the dirt idly. “Perhaps we should head back to the Crystarium first. We have a lot to tell the Exarch…” She looked at Thancred, who was still badly bruised. “And I think we could all do with some rest.”

The others headed off, with Ryne running over to walk with Alisaie and Alphinaud, but Y’shtola lingered near Urianger and the Champion. “She sees it too, then.” The three of them exchanged a nod, then followed the others back to the Crystarium.

* * *

When they arrived back at the Crystarium, Y’shtola gathered everyone to her, and threw her arm about the Champion’s shoulders. “We must speak with Ryne. Alone. The rest of you go ahead to the Exarch. We’ll catch up in a few minutes.” Urianger raised an eyebrow to his beloved, but she just shrugged helplessly.

“All right,” Thancred sighed. “Come on, Urianger, let’s get this over with. The sooner we talk to him, the sooner we can rest.”

They headed in, and left the three women alone to discuss whatever secret matters lay between them.

The Exarch was pleased to see them, and they recounted the tale of their adventures in Nabaath Areng, with Y’shtola and Ryne arriving just as Thancred brought up the Champion’s near-collapse. 

Urianger turned to Y’shtola, but she shook her head. “I sent her to _rest_ , Urianger.” The Miqo’te crossed her arms. “Care to tell me how she became aethersick?”

The expected tongue-lashing was blessedly short. After reminding Urianger that he _knew better_ , Y’shtola seemed content to just give him dirty looks. They spent the remainder of their evening discussing what military opposition they might expect from the Eulmorans and Lord Vauthry.

“We shouldst meet again on the morrow,” Urianger said, pulling himself to his feet. “I shalt bring my lady and we might -”

“No, _you_ won’t,” Y’shtola said, glowering. “She needs to rest, and I know you. You’ll have her up all night with your insatiability.”

Urianger felt his face flush, and Y’shtola laughed. He turned to Thancred for help, but the man just shrugged. “Did you forget they _talk_ , Urianger? They are very close friends.”

“ _Regardless_ ,” the Exarch said, “I will go and check up on her. Urianger, I will go to _your_ apparently unused rooms in the Pendants to let you know her condition. All right?”

He nodded, wearily, already scheming to slip into her rooms after the Exarch left, and the meeting adjourned.


	19. Crystarium (EX) 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning** : This chapter has some non-consensual stuff. 
> 
> Despite being told not to, Urianger makes his way to the Champion's rooms, to find Emet-Selch is already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning** : This chapter has some non-consensual stuff.
> 
> oof. I need a nap.

Urianger raised his hand to knock lightly on the Champion’s door, but he heard voices, and paused.

“- just once, _uxor_ , and I swear I will not trouble you again.” The Ascian’s voice was muffled by the door, but still audible.

“Why don’t I believe you?” The Champion sounded exasperated, and Urianger’s mind began to whirl. Should he open the door? Would that provoke Emet-Selch, or cause him to leave? 

The Ascian chuckled. “You’ve never trusted me, not at the beginning. But don’t worry, my pet. All I ask is one night. Your Elezen never need know. He was specifically instructed to let you sleep.”

“And why aren’t you letting me sleep?” She countered. Urianger rested his hand on the door handle, steeling himself to open the door. “It might surprise you, but I do need my rest.”

“I can give you as much rest as you like, my wife, anything you ask will be yours. Just let me forget the pain of all that has been lost for one night - just one.” The Ascian’s voice was strained, begging, even.

“And if I asked you to slay the Lightwarden of Kholusia?” She asked.

“Without question, _uxor_.”

“And if I asked you to remove this corrupted aether from my soul?”

“Without hesitation, my pet.”

“And if I asked you to undo the _binding_ , and free me?”

“Would that really result in you giving yourself to me?”

“It would certainly even the playing field. You threatened Urianger, when at the moment he can do little to fight you.” He could hear the irritation in her voice.

“I didn’t threaten him, I attempted to seduce him!”

“You must be bad at seduction. You can’t tempt either of us,” the mirth in the Champion’s voice brought a smile to Urianger’s lips as well, which dropped almost instantly when he heard the sudden groan of furniture being pushed across a stone floor.

He pushed the door open to find the Champion pinned between Emet-Selch and the table. The Ascian had stripped down to nothing but a pair of black slacks, and his well shined shoes, so Urianger was treated to the broad, muscular planes of the man’s back, and the intricate tattoo of his Ascian’s mark to be found there, as he turned to glower at him.

“Oh, _you_ ,” Emet-Selch said with disgust. “You were told to leave her alone. Why are you here?”

“Thou knowest I follow not _her_ orders,” he nodded towards his beloved. “Think’st thou that anyone else might compel obedience within me?”

The Ascian grinned wickedly, and let his hand slide from the Champion’s face, towards her breast. She didn’t hesitate to defend herself, and he coughed when her balled fist found his stomach. “Get off me,” she said, and to his credit, the man did back away.

In a single fluid motion, she stood, then looked at Emet-Selch over her shoulder. “You’re going to stay right there.”

“And why would I?”

She smirked, and turned to Urianger. “Because I commanded it. You said you would make me an Empress again - act like it.” 

The Champion started moving towards him, but over her shoulder, Urianger could see the Ascian grit his teeth. “I don’t have to stand here and take this.”

“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around Urianger and kissing him roughly. He had the sense that he was, at the moment, merely a pawn in a game much more ancient than his understanding. When she pulled away, she continued. “But you will. You’re going to stand there and watch him fuck me, knowing that you will never have me in your arms again. Not in this life, or the next, or any life that comes after.”

“Urianger Augurelt,” Emet-Selch said, his eyes burning with rage. He realized it was the first time the Ascian had said his name. “Name your price.”

“M-my price?” he asked, still trying to understand what was going on. “Prithee, explain what I wouldst be selling.”

“What would you take in exchange for you relinquishing your claim upon my _uxor’s_ heart? Barring that, what would it take for you to accept being bound to us? I am currently interested in hearing your demands.” The Ascian’s arms were crossed before his chest, and he drummed his fingers on his arm.

“She is not mine to barter with,” he said simply, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “And thou hast no plans to prevent the Rejoining, nor to release her from thy _Binding_. Thus, thou hast nothing with which thou couldst tempt me.”

Emet-Selch stood a long moment, staring at them both, then raised one hand, and snapped his fingers. His usual robes of the Garlean emperor returned, but they could not hide the pain evident in his eyes when he looked at the Champion. “It’s all for you, _uxor_. All that I have done has ever been for you. Zodiark willing, you will remember that one day, before it is too late.” He vanished in a cloud of darkness.

Urianger relaxed almost instantly. “Thank the Gods, my dear, I fear-” he turned to her, and took a step back in alarm. “W-Why art thou weeping, _beloved_?”

Tears streamed unchecked down her face. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Urianger - I don’t know.”

* * *

By the time she’d cried herself out, the dinner Urianger had brought had long since gone cold, but they ate together anyway, sitting in her window and staring up at the half-moon in silence. So much lay between them, heavy and unspoken, and for his part, he did not know how to broach any of the number of subjects troubling them.

Indeed, it was the Champion who spoke first, not looking at him, her eyes still on the night sky. “I know you’ve said you won’t take it, and I’m glad, but… do you want the _binding_? With he and I?”

“If it did not entail all that it does?” He pondered. “Mayhaps. He is excellent to look upon, my lady, I will give him that, so I cannot fault thy past self’s taste in that regard. But I cannot countenance his hands on thee. Something about it filleth me with a rage that torments my very soul. Whilst I am content to share myself, I am not content to share thee.” He shrugged. “So the point is moot.”

She nodded. “I don’t want to share you, either. Maybe I’m just greedy, wanting you all to myself.”

Urianger laughed. “Most wives expect fidelity, _minette_ , it is not a fault in thee to desire it.”

“Maybe.” She took a sip of the wine he’d brought, and leaned her head against the bricks, closing her eyes. “Is it wrong that I want you? That his attempts to seduce me just made me want you more?”

Urianger looked down at the wine glass in his hand, and turned it gently, watching the tiny eddies in the liquid. “No, not particularly.” he smiled. “Truth be told, beloved, I find it comforting that another’s attempts to engage thine ardor doth merely increase thy desire for me. It speaks to an association - that thou canst not divide thy passions from the idea of me.”

“Can you divide yours?” She asked, and he glanced up to see that she was looking at him.

“Yes and no, I fear. I have quite the imagination, _minette_ , and canst happily _fantasize_ about all manner of things. ‘Tis a side effect, I fear, of my years of solitude. But I have no desire to act on those passions.” He smiled ruefully at her. “If thou shalt leave me… there will not be another.”

“What do you mean?” She tilted her head. 

He shrugged. “As I said, thou art my last foray into these depths of love and longing, _minette._ ” He swallowed some wine, and licked his lips. “I am not a gregarious man, I am afraid. I am content to be alone. I merely tolerate most others after a few hours. Thou art the sole exception.”

She shook her head and scooted closer to him, laying her head on his chest. “The thought of you being alone makes me… unbelievably sad.”

Urianger laughed softly and wrapped his arms around her. “Then it is well and good that thou hast consented to be my bride. But please,” he swallowed, and thought on his agreement with the Exarch. “If thou ever wish to leave my side, think not upon me and my feelings. I will not be the Ascian. I will _not_ keep thee if thou wisheth to leave.”

She looked up at him, “Would you try to convince me to stay?”

The question took Urianger off guard. Whenever he considered what was coming - her learning of his betrayal and the aftermath, he always envisioned it as a sudden, dramatic split. She would learn the truth, tell him she no longer wished to be with him. Their friends would side with her, and he would vanish into his estate unless he received a summons, which he assumed would never come. He would leave a few times a year to visit Etienne and his family, play the doting uncle, then return to his books and his solitude and his memories of the breathtaking glimmer of paradise in which she had been his. The idea that he could _sway_ her, even in her anger, had never occurred to him. He swallowed, nervously. “Wouldst thou like me to?”

“I would be extremely disappointed if you didn’t try to fight for me.” Her eyes turned back to the moon. “I want a future with you, Urianger. I want to wake up with you in Bookman’s Shelves with no responsibilities save those we give ourselves. I want to find a way to bring you home to the Source. I want you to introduce me to your brother and his family, and get to know them. I want to drag you with me to Kugane and watch the stars with you from Tasogare Bridge. I want to get lectured by Y’shtola because we’re acting like lovesick fools when we should be working. I want to be your wife, carry your children, and grow old beside you. And if you still want to be _bound_ to me, if I can find a way to free myself from the Ascian, then I want that too.” She brought her hand to her face, and wiped away tears. “When this life of mine is at an end, I want to fall asleep and wake up as someone new - someone else that you could love - and find each other and build a life together all over again.” She laughed softly. “No matter what dreams may come to you, Urianger, I want to help you realize them, even if the only help I can provide is companionship.”

He buried his face in her hair, and inhaled the scent of sandalwood - so familiar to him now. Gods, not even a fortnight ago, having her like this had merely been a fantasy, a life he would never get to live, that belonged to some other version of himself trapped in a doomed world. “I will fight for thee, until the day thou asketh me to stop, I will ever endeavor to have thee beside me.”

She twisted about in his arms until she was facing him, and leaned close, kissing him softly. “I’m supposed to be resting - why are you making my heart race?”

Urianger grinned roguishly. “My most sincere apologies, my lady. I shall immediately end all attempts to be affectionate with thee.” He picked up his wineglass and took a drink, looking studiously away from her, at the moon. 

“Urianger,” she said his name in a sing-song tone, but he kept his eyes averted. She leaned closer, and he could feel her lips brushing against his ear. “Uri~anger.” 

He chuckled, but kept his face away. She kissed his neck, then nibbled slightly at his collarbone as she began unpinning his robe. Once it fell from his shoulders, she sat back, running her fingers over his chest and blushing profusely. Urianger yearned to carry her to the bed and crush her into it until morning, but even more, he yearned to see what she would do on her own, when she took the reins of their lovemaking.

Her fingers wrapped around his wineglass, and she tugged it out of his hand. “Come to bed, Urianger. I want to have my way with you.” 

He laughed and pulled himself up. “Now who is making the other’s heart race, _minette_.”

“If your heart was racing,” she said, smirking up at him, “You’d already have me pinned beneath you.”

Urianger placed a hand to his chest in mock horror. “I am capable of controlling myself, my lady, when I so desire.”

“When you so desire?” she repeated, pushing his robe the rest of the way off, then reached for his undergarments.

He caught her by her chin, and lifted her face towards his, rewarding her with a predatory smile. “When I so desire.” Her blush was instantaneous, racing from her cheeks to vanish beneath her nightgown. He released her, and took a step back, allowing her to remove his underthings. She quickly shucked her own nightgown to the floor, then grabbed his wrist, pulling him to her bed.

He followed, obligingly, casting a wistful look to the half-full bottle of wine still sitting on the windowsill before it was forgotten amidst her soft, yielding kisses.

Once they were abed, she ran her fingers over his chest. “Do you want me?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Yes,” he murmured, sliding his hand over her hips, pulling her closer. “Gods, yes.”

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his. “And what would you do to have me, Urianger?”

“Anything,” he groaned as she moved her hips, and he felt the heat of her so near his quickly-hardening cock. “Anything thou asketh, _minette_.”

“I want you to go down on me, Urianger,” she purred in his ear. “I want you to use your talented tongue to leave me nothing but a wet, quivering mess in this bed.”

“As my lady commandeth,” he said, pushing her onto her back and kissing her neck. “So shall I obey.”

“Good,” she said, decisively, as he began working his way down her body. Urianger could feel his beloved’s tension, and knew it took a special kind of courage for someone so new to intercourse to issue commands - especially when they were female. He fully intended to reward her for her brazenness, if nothing else. In truth, he yearned to please her.

The instant his tongue caressed her clitoris, she shuddered and sighed, and one of her hands slid into his hair. He lapped at her gently, wrapping one arm around her thigh to keep her legs open for him while she slowly relaxed, the anxiety of asking directly for what she wanted gave way to the bliss of receiving it.

Once Urianger was sure she was focusing only on the way she felt, and not anything else, he carefully slid two fingers from his free hand inside of her, rubbing her inner walls as he thrust them in and out of her, the way he longed to do with his cock. She responded, eagerly, the muscles of her back and thighs flexing instinctively to lift her hips from the bed, but the arm around her thigh helped to keep her still while he enjoyed her in earnest.

“Urianger…” she groaned, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Gods, Urianger, I…” Before, he had slowed to let her think - but not this time. He redoubled his efforts, adding a finger to those already inside her, and edging closer to her clitoris. The hand in his hair clenched into a fist, pulling roughly at him. He felt her tense beneath him, her whole body vibrating like a tightly wound, freshly plucked harp string, and then she relaxed, all the tension relieved in an instant, carried out of her on a wave of his name, a few obscenities, and long, uninhibited moans.

When she had finally gone quiet again, Urianger pulled away and kissed her inner thighs. He opened his mouth to ask if she was all right, but she tugged gently at his hair. “On your back, Urianger,” she said, her voice still hoarse. “I want to ride you.”

Though he was surprised at her newfound confidence, he certainly had no intention to argue. He kissed his way up her body, lingering a moment on her breasts, then rolled onto the bed beside her, on his back as instructed. She leaned over him, nibbling on the tip of his ear and stroking his cock with one hand, then clambered on top of him, using that same hand to guide him into her as she settled into position.

The combination of his saliva and her fluids made her dizzyingly wet, but through it he could still feel the strength of her core, the way her body tried to grip him and keep him deep inside her, even as she rocked back and forth on top of him. He hadn’t had her like this before, and he marvelled at the sight of her, wanton and dishevelled, using him for her pleasure. His hands shaking, he placed them on her thighs, and looked up to see if she’d gainsay him, but she was too absorbed in her own ecstasy. He slowly slid them up to her hips, watching her, but she did not argue, only moaned and slid one hand to her clit to play with it while she rode him.

Unable to resist the urge, Urianger gripped her hips tightly and pulled her down onto him, letting himself plunge deeper than her rocking would normally allow. “Yes,” she whimpered, rubbing herself more frantically. “Gods, Urianger, yes.” He didn’t need further instruction - he adjusted his grip and began pulling her down every time she rocked back, using her motions to take himself as deep as he could possibly go into her.

He was so absorbed in her - her wetness, her strength, the sight of her breasts, heaving with her panting gasps and bouncing every time he pulled her down - that he didn’t realize his own orgasm was upon him until it was too late, and his own hips lifted off the bed in an effort to somehow drive himself deeper into her. The sudden change in position caused her to lose her balance, and her hands slammed into the mattress on either side of his torso as he emptied himself into her.

She giggled softly and pulled herself off of him, rolling between him and the wall, and kissed his shoulder. Urianger ran a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, still reeling from his climax. “ _Minette_ ,” he murmured, as his mind fought to realign itself. “That was marvelous.”

She giggled again, and fluffed the pillow beneath her head. “I’m glad… I am exhausted, though.” The Champion sighed. “I think Y’shtola was right. I should have been sleeping.”  
Urianger rolled to face her, and reached across, rubbing her back gently. “Then get thee to thy rest, my dear. I shall pick things up from our dinner and join thee shortly.” She nodded, and he pulled the coverlet up over her as her breathing began to slow, then sat up on the edge of the bed.

He rubbed his face, still trying to get himself together, then ran his hands through his hair. He looked up, expecting to see the mirror of her glamour dresser, but instead, found himself looking at the Ascian, who sat at the long table, their half-drunk bottle of wine now empty before him.

The two men regarded each other in silence, while the Champion’s soft snoring echoed off the stone walls from behind Urianger, who was too surprised by Emet-Selch’s arrival to be embarrassed by his nudity. The Ascian had removed his gloves, and his shaking hands folded together in front of his mouth.

“Why art thou here?” Urianger managed to whisper. Though he had suspected the other man observed them in their ardor before, given his words in the Rak’tika Greatwood, he had never given a direct sign of it.

“She ordered me to stay and watch,” Emet-Selch replied, weakly.

Urianger stood, slowly. He was the only thing between the sleeping Champion and this predator that sought to claim her. “Dost thou always followeth her orders?”

Emet-Selch stood as well, stepping from behind the table. “In matters of lust? Absolutely.”

Urianger rolled his eyes, and moved to the windowsill, carefully gathering the remains of their meal. “Well, I can but hope that thou found some enjoyment in the show. As the performance hath ended, and our leading lady be asleep in her bower, I wouldst point thee to thy exit.” He gestured with the plate towards the door. 

The Ascian shrugged and made to head for it, but the men’s paths crossed in the middle of the room, and in one fluid motion, Urianger found himself wrapped in Emet-Selch’s arms, the other man’s face flushed. Without word or preamble, he kissed him again, and there was nothing experimental about it. The Garlean Emperor was needy, selfish even, and Urianger felt him shudder against him, despite his own fearful paralysis.

The Ascian only broke away when Urianger’s trembling caused him to drop the plate, which shattered loudly on the floor. “Zodiark,” Emet-Selch whispered, pressing his forehead against Urianger’s chest. “I can still taste her on you.” He lifted the fingers that had been inside her to his lips, and licked them clean, staring into Urianger’s terrified eyes. “I wonder where else I might find her flavors,” he murmured, advancing on the Elezen.

“Thou shalt not touch me,” Urianger croaked, his voice deathly quiet from fear, but his proclamation seemed to have no effect on the Ascian. 

Emet-Selch pushed him up against the nearest wall, and he smirked. “Oh, Elezen… the ways I can make you suffer for making love to her.” He wrapped his hand around Urianger’s flaccid member, wiping the excess from it, and then brought that same hand to his mouth, licking their mingled ecstasy off his palm. “If this is the only way I can taste of her, so be it. I will-”

A low, wooden groan interrupted the Ascian, and both men looked behind him. The Champion stood beside the bed, Urianger’s astrolabe floating above her hand, small motes of light filling the room, centered on Emet-Selch. He dropped Urianger unceremoniously, and raised his hands. “ _Uxor,_ you’re awake. Mayhaps we can try that negotiation a-”

“No,” Her voice was cold as she plucked one of the cards at random - The Spear - and held it aloft. “You try my patience, Ascian. You have had your fun. Now leave us. I will not receive you in my bedchamber again until I have summoned you there. Am I understood?” The half-moon hung behind her head, like Tsukiyomi’s halo, and for a moment Urianger understood who she would become, who she had become in previous lives, when she stood by Emet-Selch’s side.

 _”Uxor,”_ the Ascian began, but the tiny pinpricks of stars in the air, a sign that she was using _Gravity_ , began to hum as she channelled more of her aether to them.

“Am I understood?” She repeated, her voice steel, and her face impassive. This, Urianger knew, was not his delicate ingenue - this was the Empress of Garlemald, the Empress of Ancient Allag. This was the woman who could bring an Ascian to his knees and make him beg for more.

Emet-Selch bowed his head. “My lady.” Tendrils of darkness wrapped about his form, and he vanished from the room.

Urianger began to shake uncontrollably, again, sliding down the wall so he could sit. He heard his astrolabe clatter to the floor, and a moment later her arms were around him. “Are you all right?”

He pressed his face into her shoulder. “I-Is he like that with thee all the t-time?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. “Doth he just… touch thee?”

“Yes,” she said, stroking his hair. “I just have to be firm with him, and he stops, eventually.”

“Eventually,” Urianger parotted darkly, with a near-hysterical laugh. “I thought he was going to slay me.”

“So did I,” she whispered. 

They sat in silence together, a long time, until Urianger had righted everything inside his heart and mind. Finally, he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you,” she replied. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” 

He nodded, weakly, and the two of them held each other beneath the coverlet, falling into sleep with the weight of Dalamud crashing toward Carteneau.


	20. Crystarium, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emet-Selch explains what happened in the past in greater detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Next stop: Kholusia!
> 
> I probably won't post another chapter until this weekend. I am sick home from work today but that means i'm going to have to do extra the rest of this week >.<

_”Urianger Augurelt!”_

He snapped awake at the sound of his name, said with more than a little irritation. Y’shtola stood over him, disappointment etched into every line of her face. “I _told_ you to let her rest. Yet what do I find? You’ve decided to avail yourself of her bed anyway!” The Miqo’te bustled about the room, cleaning up the shattered plate from the night before, lecturing Urianger on his selfishness and inability to follow directions.

Beside him, the Champion yawned and sat up, clutching the coverlet to her chest. “Shtola… Why are you yelling?” Her voice was still thick with sleep, and all the fight went out of the Miqo’te instantaneously. 

“Urianger was supposed to let you get some sleep, my friend. He wasn’t supposed to be here.” Y’shtola replied, moving on to prepare some tea. 

“He got rid of the Ascian…” his beloved offered in soft, mumbling tones. Urianger glanced at his fiancee out of the corner of his eye. It was a little white lie, admittedly, but it came to her too easily. He wondered for a moment if she might be a better match for him than he had originally anticipated.

Y’shtola’s face flushed. “Oh. That’s forgivable I suppose.” She offered no apology, however, merely looking at Urianger and sniffed in disapproval. “But we have a meeting with the Exarch this morning before we head to Eulmore, and Emet-Selch is sure to be there. The sooner we go, the sooner we get it over with.” 

Urianger said nothing, just sat with his hands folded in his lap, while Y’shtola finished making the tea and set the pot on the table. “Well?” She said, tapping her foot impatiently. “I told you we need to go.”

“Yes,” he said, patiently, “But my lady and I were _abed_ when thou arrived in her rooms.” He looked pointedly at his lap. “As thou art still _here_ , I canst not leave the bed until we have some privacy.”

The Miqo’te turned her back, looking pointedly at the door. “There. Now get up.”

The Champion giggled and climbed over him to get out of bed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips as she did. Urianger watched her rummage about in her little sack of stones while he carefully re-dressed in his robes, and picked his astrolabe up off the floor. As he held it, he remembered the woman in his beloved’s skin he had seen last night, and her lie this morning. What other untold secrets did she hide within her depths, still yet unknown to him?

“What do you think, Shtola? Defense or offense?” she asked her friend, having settled on a small collection of stones, seeming to weigh them in her palm like precious gems. 

Y’shtola shrugged. “We are intending a surgical strike to take out the Lightwarden, unless I miss my guess. I suggest offense.” 

Nodding, the Champion plucked one from her palm, and placed the rest back into the small bag amongst her things. At a whisper of her aether, she was clad in fine silks and a dashing coat, rapier at one hip, and an arcane focus on the other. She tapped the toe of one boot gently on the ground. “Still got it,” she giggled.

Y’shtola laughed. “Urianger, are you decent?”

“Yes, my lady,” he replied, and she turned to regard them both.

“Alisaie is going to have a fit about you stealing her thunder,” the Miqo’te teased.

“No, she won’t, her rapier’s nicer than mine,” The Champion drew her own weapon, twirling it with practiced ease. “She’s the one who taught me to fence, anyway.” She went to resheathe the weapon, but Urianger took it from her, examining it. 

“A standard-issue Temple Knight fencing rapier?” he asked, clicking his tongue. “My lady, thou art deserving of a better weapon that _that_. Lady Alisaie’s is a custom piece of mine own design. Why dost thou use something so… ordinary?”

She shrugged and poured herself a cup of tea. “I told Aymeric I wanted a rapier. He told me they had plenty in the armory. I took one. I haven’t really troubled myself over it since. And I know you made Alisaie’s rapier, I was there when you gave it to her.” 

Urianger blushed. He’d quite forgotten that. The girl had loved the rapier, but had taken it as a token of more intimate affections than he had intended. After receiving _several_ badly metered “anonymous” love poems, he had felt the need to let slip in conversation that there was no one for him but Moenbryda, and he would mourn her forever. Lost in thought, he mumbled, “Mayhaps that is why she is so surly in regards to mine affections for the Warrior of Light… doth she feel slighted? She be but a child, near a decade my junior upon the source, nigh two decades here…”

The Champion and Y’shtola exchanged a look, and the Miqo’te said, “Thus, the last chocobo crosses the finish line,” and the two women giggled. “Though i’m curious, Urianger - how is it you can make a rapier when you don’t know how to use one?”

He tilted his head. “Who hath said I don’t?”

“None of us have ever seen you _lift_ a blade to do other than hand it to someone else,” his beloved replied, eyeing him. “Do you know how?”

He twirled her rapier in his hand, falling back into the resting stance common to fencers. “It is considered an integral part of education for all young men of breeding, my dear. Thou knowest I have ever kept a keen eye to mine own education.” He flipped it back, offering it to her, hilt first, in a formal bow. “My lady.”

“If you know how to use one,” Y’shtola asked as the Champion returned the blade to its sheath, “Why don’t you?”

Urianger shrugged. “Wearing a blade is a declaration that thou art willing to use it if pressed. Whilst I am a capable fencer, I am certainly not the best, and my talents lie more with direct manipulation of aether. It is easier than channelling it through objects, as Lady Alisaie and, it seems, my beloved, shall.”

“Fair enough,” she replied, and turned to the Champion, who was pouring the rest of the tea into a mug. “Shall we be off?”

Urianger’s beloved pressed the tea into his hands. “Yes. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

When they entered the Ocular, the Ascian was already there, waiting. His eyes smouldered as he stared at the Champion and he offered her a soft smile, but she acted as though she did not see him, instead taking a place in the center of the room.

Sadly, Urianger was not so brave, especially after their encounter the night before, and crossed to the far side of the room, releasing his fiancee’s hand with a soft squeeze. She smiled in understanding, and let him go. 

“Ah, there you are,” the Exarch said, offering his own smile. “May I assume you’ve had your fill of rest?”

She smirked and glanced at Urianger, but nodded. 

“That is well,” he continued. “Now that we are all present, let us speak of our plan. Thus far, we have vanquished four Lightwardens, restoring night to much of Norvrandt. Only one remains - that of Kholusia.” The Exarch turned his attention to Ryne. “And with Ryne to guide us, I am certain we _will_ find it.” The girl nodded.

“We’re so close now,” Alisaie said, approaching the Exarch. “If we can just take care of this one last Warden, we’ll rob the sin eaters of their final foothold, and drive them out of Norvrandt once and for all.” The hooded man offered her a warm smile, encouraged by her words, and she responded in kind. “It will be a new beginning for the First - a chance for the people to rebuild their world.”

Alphinaud nodded in agreement with his sister, then glanced at Ryne. “In short, a prize worth fighting for.”

“And in thus delivering the First from destruction,” Urianger said, hopeful relief beginning to blossom in his heart, “so too shall we unsow the seeds of the Eighth Umbral Calamity.” His eyes landed on his beloved. _And save thee._

Y’shtola turned to the Ascian, and smirked. “Do you hear? Your dreamed-of Rejoining is in jeopardy. Are you sure you’re not _tempted_ to intervene?”

Emet-Selch sighed and shook his head, a bemused smile on his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You labor under the misapprehension that vanquishing the sin eaters is tantamount to saving the world. It is not.” He glanced at Urianger, some unspoken warning in his gaze. “In truth, you only delay the inevitable, lengthening your fleeting lives by the smallest of margins.” The others glared at him, one by one, ready to challenge him. 

_But of course they would,_ Urianger thought. _There is much and more he still has not shared._ He glanced at the Champion, but she was watching the Ascian, her face an unreadable mask. Emet-Selch’s gaze finally settled on her, and they stared at each other as he spoke.

“‘Twould be churlish of me to deny you this _small_ concession, close as we’ve become.” His eyes flicked up to Urianger. “Foolish and misguided though you are, you are not without charm.” Urianger felt his face flush as the Ascian tore his gaze away, again addressing the group. “Each and every one of you is possessed of a noble heart. When the weak want for succor, you do not hesitate to provide it.”

“Alas,” he drawled the word out, focusing again on the Champion. “Your nobility is shortsighted. You think only of the problem in front of your nose.” He shrugged. “A limitation of your ephemeral existence.”

Alphinaud stepped forward. “Our lives may seem short and insignificant to the likes of you, but one does not need to be an eternal being to achieve lasting change.”

Emet-Selch raised one hand. “Ah, if I may stop you there?” His gaze lingered a moment longer on his _uxor_ , before he turned to the boy. “I do not claim that the Ascians are _special_. That is another misconception. In the beginning, everyone - _everyone_ lived nigh for eternity. Such was the natural order of things. But like so much else,” he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was staring at the woman in the center of the room, “this was taken from you.”

Urianger’s brow lowered as he began to contemplate the Ascian’s words. As usual, he was saying two things at once, another message hidden inside the explanation he was giving. 

“You won’t object if I borrow your plaything,” he said to the Exarch. It was a statement, not a question, and the Ascian didn’t wait for a reply before raising his hand and snapping his fingers. The room around them shimmered, and they found themselves on a small platform in the center of a sea of stars. The Champion stepped back in surprise, and the warning Urianger would give died in his throat as Emet-Selch appeared behind her, gently placing his gloved hands on her shoulders.

_My lady hath the right of it, I fear,_ he thought to himself. _He truly meaneth her no harm - but their definitions of the term are vastly different._

When the Ascian continued, it was obvious he was speaking to the Champion, the rest of them just happened to be in the room for this conversation. A bright sphere of light appeared just off the platform, a little way above their heads. The hero turned to look at it, and Emet-Selch remained beside her, holding her close. “In the distant past, when the world was one and whole, a great calamity threatened all life.” 

The orb began to turn red, and an undertone of grief entered the Ascian’s voice as he spoke. “It began without warning. The very laws of the star were warped and broken, and chaos swiftly spread throughout the land. Faced with annihilation, we,” and here, Urianger realized he wasn’t speaking of the Ascians as a whole. He was speaking of a smaller number that included himself, and possibly his _uxor_ , “sought to imbue the star with its own will. Thus was Zodiark born, and by His power, was order restored.” 

The Champion turned to look at him, and he looked down at her, his brow furrowed around his Garlean eye. “Ere long, however, _thankless fools_ ,” Emet-Selch’s hands on her shoulders tightened, “began to fear that Zodiark’s might was too great. And so they conjured another to keep Him in check - your own _dear_ Hydaelyn.”

Urianger’s mind began to whirl with the implications. He knew the surface of this tale already, but now, seeing the Ascian retell it, he began to see more of the pieces fall into place. The Champion had been Emet-Selch’s wife. The Champion had _been_ an Ascian, of some type. Some of the Ascians, definitely including Emet-Selch, possibly including his _uxor_ , had summoned Zodiark. Others, definitely including the Champion, felt Zodiark was too powerful, and thus summoned the Mother Crystal, Hydaelyn.

“Art thou saying…” Urianger whispered, barely audible past his own ears, “that the great upheaval of all creation, the Calamities unto today, the very cycle of destruction and rebirth… that it all be a _marital spat_?” The only answer he received was a rueful smile from the Ascian.

Y’shtola sighed in boredom. “And the two beings waged war until, with a single, devastating blow, Hydaelyn unmade Zodiark, scattering his being across space and time. So you told us in the Qitana Ravel.” She gave Emet-Selch an irritated glare.

“Yes, yes…” The Ascian waved a hand at her dismissively, before returning it to the Champion’s shoulder. “And _there_ began our woes - with Hydaelyn’s blow, and all that it wrought.” He lifted a hand, and brushed a lock of hair from his _uxor’s_ face, as tender and loving as any touch Urianger would offer her. “As a counterbalance to Zodiark, Hydaelyn was created with the power to enervate Her foe. This singular ability strikes not at such banal things as flesh, but _everything_ that defines the target, diluting its existence.” Emet-Selch leaned down, and whispered something to the Champion. She blinked, and her cheeks flushed, but she said nothing.

“For example,” he continued, turning to Ryne, “were she to strike you…” Both Thancred and Alphinaud took a step forward, as if to interpose themselves between the Ascian and the girl, but he paid them no mind, and snapped his fingers. A perfect copy of the girl appeared beside her. “Two individuals, identical in appearance, yet reduced in all respects. Strength, intelligence, the soul itself - all is halved.” The copy vanished, and he looked up at the orb - blue again - lingering above their heads. “Do you see? This selfsame fate befell not only Zodiark, but the very star.” 

The Ascian returned his gaze to the Champion, who continued staring at the orb as slash marks appeared on its surface, and then slowly spread into a ring of fourteen orbs - the Source, and its thirteen reflections. “Only three were fortunate enough to escape the sundering,” he said, and the grief in his voice nearly brought Urianger to tears, as Emet-Selch stared longingly at the Champion. “Me being one of them.” He swallowed, and cupped her face in one of his gloved hands. “When I beheld the shattered remnants of _our_ home, I knew deepest despair, _uxor_. The inhabitants of these fourteen fragments were feeble, frail, and foolish. _Oblivious_ to their imperfections, ignorant of their past.” 

Tears welled in the Ascian’s eyes, and he wept openly before the Champion. _He speaketh not to her,_ Urianger realized, _but who she_ was _in their sundered paradise._

Emet-Selch’s shoulders began to shudder with an attempt to stop his crying, even as he continued speaking. “Malformed creatures thrashing blindly about. Pitiful. Disturbing. Depressing.” He tore his eyes away from her and looked up at the ring of orbs over their heads. “So, we took it upon ourselves to rejoin the worlds. But in our eagerness - and, I confess, our ignorance - we erred, and made a useless void of the Thirteenth. It was only afterwards that we discovered a connection ‘twixt Source and shard - a flow of energy that maintains elemental balance. And thus did we arrive at our time-honored modus operandi.” 

The Ascian’s tears had stopped, and he looked back to his _uxor_ , confident, triumphant even. “I swore that I would see you whole again,” he whispered, “no matter the cost.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, returning them all to the Ocular.

“From a purely Ascian standpoint,” Y’shtola conceded, “it could be said that what you seek to do is only logical.” The Miqo’te crossed her arms, anger still evident on her face. “But that would be to ignore the immeasurable destruction wrought with each Rejoining. You have _murdered_ millions. And this we cannot condone.” Urianger wondered for a moment if she were truly speaking to Emet-Selch, or if those words were intended to remind the Champion of what she was dealing with.

Regardless, he shrugged, undaunted by her accusation. “By _your_ fragmented existence, you continue to give rise to tragedies far crueler than any calamity. But yes,” The Ascian tilted his head and conceded the point. “Moral relativism and all that. Case in point - I do not consider you to be truly alive. Ergo, I will not be guilty of murder if I kill you.”

The Champion’s eyebrows knit together and she frowned. Emet-Selch, upon seeing her expression, sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You for whom I have only the highest expectations.” He smiled, his voice light and teasing and intimate. “A vaunted hero of the Source! Seven times rejoined. Eight of Fourteen fragments of my _uxor_.” He kissed her forehead tenderly. “Long have I awaited one who might brave a path of lesser tragedy. A resilient soul able to endure the necessary pain. I dare to hope that my wait is over, and what irony that it is you. You walked beside me _then_... could you walk beside me now?” She stared up at him, her face a mask of shock as he continued. “So, finish your task and slay the Lightwarden. Make proof of your usefulness. And then we may speak again.”

The woman in his arms began to speak, but the door burst open unexpectedly. As Urianger turned his attention to Lyna’s abrupt entrance, he saw the Champion take a step toward the Ascian out of the corner of his eye, and he enveloped her in his arms.

“Forgive me, my lord, but this could not wait,” the Viis said, unaware of what she had just interrupted.

“Speak freely, Captain,” the Exarch replied.

Lyna saluted. “Our informant in Kholusia sends word of unusual activity in Eulmore. It appears their forces are entrenching themselves at key points throughout the city. Making ready for an attack, by all indications.”

“An intriguing use of resources,” the Exarch said, lifting his hand to his chin. “I rather doubt Lord Vauthry is concerned for the safety of his citizens…”

Alisaie turned her attention to him. “You think he’s harboring the Lightwarden _inside_ the city walls? Even if he does have some means of controlling the sin eaters, wouldn’t that be a little risky?”

“Risky or not,” Thancred interjected, “if there is even a chance the Warden is hiding there, we will need to act fast. The longer we wait, the better prepared the Eulmorans will be.”

“Agreed,” the Exarch declared. “See to your preparations then, and make for Kholusia.” He turned to Alisaie. “Gods willing, this hunt will be the last. Let us see it through to the end.”

Alphinaud looked over to the Champion, still in Emet-Selch’s arms. “We should begin by assembling in Wright. There we may assess the situation in Eulmore, and decide how best to proceed.”

She nodded, and went to pull away, but the Ascian’s grip tightened. “I would speak with you privately, a moment, _uxor_.”

They all hesitated, and a glance at Thancred relieved Urianger that he wasn’t the only one reaching for his weapon. “It’s all right,” she said, raising her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “He won’t harm me.”

“How can you be sure of _that_?” Thancred said, his fingers still upon the hilt of his gunblade.

“Because he loves me,” she said, matter-of-factly.

The rest of their number exchanged a look, but Urianger swallowed, and spoke. “Though I am loathe to admit it, in his own, perverse way, he does.”

The Ascian looked up at him in surprise, then smiled. “The offer’s still on the table, if you change your mind.”

He felt his own face flush. “I will await thee in the plaza, _fiancee_ mine,” he said, emphasizing the word in a petulant attempt to provoke Emet-Selch, but the man just laughed, the sound of it following Urianger and the others out of the room.

* * *

“What, exactly, is going on between the three of you?” Y’shtola asked once they were outside of the tower. The others were a short distance away, Alphinaud showing Ryne some beginner’s magical diagrams from one of his tomes, while Thancred and Alisaie pretended to have a conversation and looked on in disapproval.

Urianger rubbed his face. “Thou wouldst not believe me.”

“You know my secret, Urianger,” she said, and looked to Thancred. They both stood in silence for a moment, acknowledgement of the thing Y’shtola had sworn she’d never utter. “Try me.”

So Urianger told her the whole of it - Emet-Selch’s obsession with the Champion, and his advances on Urianger, increasing in frequency as he began to realize that she would not go to him while the Elezen had a hold on her. His own conjectures about the history between the Ascian and his fiancee, especially in light of what the man had said just a few minutes ago.

Y’shtola laughed. “You thought I wouldn’t believe that? Urianger, that sounds exactly like the kind of drama she would get embroiled in. It is always the fate of the stars with her. Frankly…” the Miqo’te leaned back, and looked up at the midday sky. “It can get rather tiring.”

Urianger glanced away, and noticed Thancred’s eyes on Y’shtola, a growing scowl darkening his features. He looked away before she could spot him, and she said, “Not that you’re much better.”

“My lady,” he said in mock affront. “Thou woundeth me.”

“Not as much as _he_ will,” the Champion said from behind them. “Are we ready to depart?”

Urianger scrambled to his feet. “Thou art unharmed?” 

“Of course I am, Urianger,” she said, “he just wanted to give me a gift.”

“A _gift_ ,” Y’shtola said dubiously.

“A gift,” the Ascian repeated as he joined the conversation, coming up beside the Champion. “I had heard your discussion this morning regarding her rapier, and I agree, the thing she was using was rather useless. So I gave her mine.”

Urianger couldn’t help it as his eyes snapped to the sword at his lover’s hip. It was an elegant piece, a work of art in its own right, with a silver filigree basket. Upon closer inspection, he could see the Ascian’s mark had been worked into the design, and he pursed his lips. Giving someone your own personal weapon was an act of intimacy. While he doubted the Champion would understand the symbolism, he was certain Emet-Selch knew.

“We should get going,” the woman between Urianger and the Ascian said to Y’shtola. “Lightwardens don’t kill themselves.”

“Just so,” Emet-Selch said. He caught the Champion’s hand and turned her to face him. “Take care of yourself, yes? I will see you again once you have slain the last Lightwarden. Then we can talk about your future.” He glanced at Urianger. “Our future, even, if necessary.”

She sighed. “Until then, _vir_.”

Urianger’s heart sank at her use of the term, but he felt her fingers slip into his hand.

As soon as the Ascian was gone, she said, without preamble. “I had to do something.”

“What meanest thou?” he asked. Y’shtola, sensing this was a personal conversation, went to collect the others.

“I asked what it would take for him to not touch you without your consent,” she said. “He asked that I accept who he is to me, at least in law, if not in practice.”

Urianger’s frown deepened, but she continued. “He is my husband, and I am his wife, by the laws of that ancient sundered world.” She looked down at the rapier. “But if I have my way, not for long.”


	21. Eulmore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Darkness and her retinue assault Eulmore in hopes of finding the Lightwarden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was not expecting to get this chapter done in a day, but here we are. I hope you all enjoy it. Please do leave a comment, if you are so inclined, they make my work day much better. :)

The journey to Kholusia was blessedly uneventful, and they found themselves standing on the outskirts of Gatetown just before sunset. To say the residents were acting strange was an understatement. Most of them stood, enraptured, staring towards the city as if entranced.

“Strange,” Urianger murmured, lifting a hand to his chin in thought. “Passing strange.” He turned to his beloved. “By their behavior, we may safely assume they are under Vauthry’s mind control.” He looked over his shoulder towards the crowd, noting the few who seemed to be attempting to awaken their fellows. “Yet the extent of the effect seemeth to vary dramatically between subjects. ‘Tis far too pronounced to be attributed simply to the vagaries of innate magical resistance.” He ran one hand through his hair and began to pace, attempting to solve the conundrum. 

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Alphinaud said, approaching with Ryne. “We met with no trouble en route,” the boy said to the Champion. “My thanks for securing the way. But, given the state of the townsfolk, I see we were never in any danger of being recognized.”

Thancred turned to Ryne. “What can you tell us from here?”

The girl closed her eyes and held out her hand, which Alphinaud took, clasping it in both of his own while she concentrated. Urianger realized she was drawing aether from the boy, to fuel her own senses. “I sense a powerful eater… in the uppermost reaches of the city…” She frowned. “But there’s something different about it. It’s Light is impure.” She opened her eyes, and looked to Alphinaud, who hastily dropped her hand, then to Thancred. “We need to get closer.”

“Ohhh!” a voice said from amongst the houses. “So _that one’s_ Alphinaud! … Unless you’re triplets?” They turned to see Alisaie approaching with a Mystel man.

The Champion raised her hand in greeting, and Alphinaud said, “Kai-Shirr! What are you doing here?”

“While I was scouting the area,” Alisaie said, irritation evident in her voice. “I noticed a suspicious figure skulking about. So, I accosted him -” the Champion giggled behind her hand, and Alisaie gave her a friendly smile. “Only to have him call me ‘Alphinaud.’ I thought it best to bring him along.”

“You see,” Kai-Shirr said. “That informant who’s been feeding secrets to the Crystarium… It’s me.” He started stumbling over his words as he spoke to the boy, a blush evident on his cheeks. “S-see, after you saved my life in Eulmore, I thought about going somewhere far away. But I couldn’t just _leave_ , not without paying you back.” He swallowed and took a step towards Alphinaud. “So I decided to stay here - keep an eye on things. And whenever I spotted something strange, I shared it with your friends.”

Alphinaud smiled, and the Mystel boy’s blush deepened. “That took no small amount of courage,” the Elezen boy said. “Well done.” Alisaie and the Champion exchanged impish grins, but Ryne, beside Alphinaud, frowned.

“I assume you saw what happened here,” Thancred said.

“R-right,” the Kai-Shirr turned his attention to Thancred. “So, an airship flew in a bit ago, and not long after, Vauthry starts ranting and raving. You could hear him from all the way out here!” The boy laughed. “Geezer was doing his nut! Shouting and screaming like someone had nicked his pie!”

Urianger put an arm around his fiancee. “‘Tis like the airship bore the soldiers sent to thwart our efforts in Amh Araeng.” She nodded in agreement, and brought one of her hands to her shoulder, to hold is own where it rested.

“So,” Kai-Shirr continued. “Eventually the yelling dies down… and then this hot, sticky wind comes blowing through.” The boy grimaced and turned his attention back to Alphinaud. “Now that’s when everyone went funny. Everyone but me. Well, me and a couple of newcomers, though even they started mumbling about Vauthry after a while. Not as bad as the rest, mind you.”

“Newcomers…” Urianger looked down in thought. Footsteps from behind drew him from his reverie, and he looked over his shoulder again to see Y’shtola emerging from the still crowd, her face hard.

“Shtola?” the Champion asked.

“There’s something I need Ryne to see,” the Miqo’te said. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a large, pale roll. “This was among the townsfolk’s food stores.”

Ryne’s face twisted in revulsion, and she took a step back. Kai-Shirr shrugged. “Oh, that’s just meol. Eulmore doles the stuff out.”

“No!” Ryne nearly shouted, and Alphinaud jumped beside her, returning his attention to the girl. “It… It couldn’t be…” She reached out again, and clutched Alphinaud’s shoulder, her other hand going to her mouth, as if to prevent herself from vomiting. “I-I know what it is. It’s sin eater. Meol is _made_ out of sin eater.” Everyone turned to look at the abomination in Y’shtola’s hand, save Thancred, who glared in disapproval at the hand Ryne had placed on Alphinaud’s shoulder.

“So it is,” Y’shtola agreed. “In limited quantities, it may have little effect on an average individual. Yet if one were to consume it regularly, over a period of several years, I suspect it would do far, far more than merely nourish the body.”

Urianger pulled his fiancee to him, and said, “That Vauthry wieldeth power over sin eaters is known. Could it be that those who partake of their flesh do thereby render themselves susceptible to his influence?” The Champion scowled, but nodded in agreement. “‘Twould serve to explain why the town’s newer arrivals succumbed less quickly than those raised on a diet of Meol.”

“He’s been rounding up sin eaters and _feeding_ them to people?” Alisaie yelled. “Altering them mouthful by mouthful - all to stop them answering back?!” She clenched her hands into fists and looked down. “There are desperate souls out there _killing_ themselves to escape turning! This is unforgivable! An _atrocity!”_

While Alisaie’s anger was explosive, Alphinaud’s was calm and collected, the trappings of a well-bred elezen snapping into place like armor. “These sin eaters… What if they are not simply ‘rounded up’?” He looked to the Champion. “Do you remember what we were told when first we came to the city?” The boy’s face transmuted to a sneer. “‘Many enter, but none leave’?”

Horror filled Urianger’s beloved’s face, and then she pushed past him, darting behind a nearby shack. He winced as he could hear her retching in disgust. Alphinaud closed his eyes a moment and inhaled a few deep breaths as he banished any betraying signs of emotion from his face. By the time the Champion returned, he was calm. “Let us put an end to it,” the boy said, “To this ‘paradise’ built on the bones of the poor.” He looked to Ryne, who nodded in agreement. “Vauthry’s deeds are beyond justification. Beyond forgiveness. Evil.”

Thancred turned to the Champion. “It’s highly probable that the Lightwarden is waiting for us somewhere in there, and I’m all for going after it.” He surveyed the rest of the group as well, before returning his eyes to her. “But our enemies know our faces. They know that we are coming. And they will not let us through without a fight. Like it or not, the time for stealth is passed.” The two exchanged wicked grins, and Urianger watched his beloved draw the Ascian’s blade. “Now, my friend. If you would be so good as to lead the charge?”

As they all began to prepare for battle, Urianger realized that this might be the end. The last few moments she was his. He watched her as she snatched Thancred’s flask from him and took a swig, then handed it back. If they were right, and the Lightwarden was in Eulmore, she would find it, and she would slay it, and then he would send for G’raha Tia, who would reveal his deception. 

Urianger turned to Y’shtola, but she raised a hand to stop him. “She has said not until she is free of the Ascian. And even then…” she sighed, and closed her eyes. “And even then, even if she fails, and becomes a sin eater, we at least have a glimmer of a chance of stopping her. With you beside her in that fate? The First would truly be lost.”

He scowled, and turned back to the Champion where she still spoke with Thancred. Etiquette be damned, he walked over and grabbed her arm, pulling her after him into a nearby shack, and slamming the door behind them.

“Urianger?” she asked, her brow furrowed in concern. “What is -”

He interrupted her with a kiss, pressing her into the rickety wooden wall, ignoring that she tasted like bile and whiskey. He had to say something. He had to fight for her. He had to try.

“I love thee,” he said, over and over, every time he stopped for breath before diving back into her kisses. When he’d calmed the panic that had taken him with her lips, he pressed his forehead against hers.

“I love thee more than sun and moon and stars and all the lights of the firmament. I wouldst do _anything_ \- give _anything,_ endure _anything_ \- to see thee safe and whole and untroubled.” Urianger threaded his fingers in her hair and clutched her to his chest, as if somehow the sound of his heartbeat could convey the sincerity of his intentions. “I care not if the First collapses into Light, and the very foundations of the Source tremble with the Calamity of its destruction, so long as thou returneth from this trial in safety.”

“Urianger,” she laughed, and reached up, holding his face in her hand, her thumb stroking over his tattoo. “Stopping the Calamity is how we save my life. You said so yourself.” 

_Such blind faith she placeth in me,_ he thought, cursing himself. _I do not deserve her, or her trust._ He closed his eyes. “Regardless - thy health and happiness art the only dream left to me. Return thee from this trial safely, and I can ask nothing more.”

Thancred banged on the door. “We don’t have time for a tumble right now, you two. Can it wait?” 

She turned away from him and reached for the door, and as much as Urianger wanted to stop her, he knew the moment of his reckoning was fast approaching.

As they approached the city proper, Vauthry sensed their presence, and issued a command for all those ensorcelled by him to prevent their entry to the city. Alphinaud begged them to spare the civilians, but doing so slowed them to a mere crawl. 

“Press on with Alphinaud,” Alisaie told the champion. “We’ll hold off the civilians and join you as soon as we can.”

Urianger’s heart lurched. He wanted to argue, to claim those last few minutes for himself, but at the same time, he knew he would not be able to bear to watch, to see the love for him in her eyes turn to hate when she learned of his betrayal. And so he said nothing, and his heart cried out as he watched his beloved vanish into the city with the boy.

* * *

Urianger’s heart thundered in his chest as they raced up the stairs. They had found Alphinaud on a landing half-way up the circular staircase that lead deeper into Eulmore, breathing heavily and surrounded by the unconscious bodies of a number of soldiers. He didn’t care if she hated him, but he had to see his beloved again. He had to look into her eyes, into that hate, even, just to know that she was safe.

They came around the bend into a large room, an overly decorated Aetheryte at its center. Past it, his beloved stood over the body of Ran’jit, her rapier red with his blood, and her hair slick with sweat and plastered against her skin.

“Are you all right?” Alphinaud called, opening his tome in preparation to heal her. 

She smiled at them, and Urianger did not know whether to be thankful of the fact that she seemed to have not yet encountered the sin eater - she had not yet decided to revile him.

Ryne stared at Ran’jit’s corpse, frozen on the spot, and Thancred put a hand on her shoulder. Whatever crimes the man had committed, he had been the father of her childhood - the father of her innocence. _Be that as it may,_ Urianger thought, _’Tis Thancred who is the father of her metamorphosis into the woman she wilt become._

After a few respectful moments, Thancred said, “The citizens appear to have calmed down for the moment. I can only assume Vauthry is otherwise engaged. Let’s get to the upper level while we can.”

The elevator to Vauthry’s chambers was quiet, and as they rode up, Urianger reached out to his fiancee - how much longer could he call her that? She came to him, willingly, and the others averted their gazes politely as he kissed her. He knew they feared their parting from her being unable to control the corruption of her aether, but he was content to let them wallow in ignorance. He peeled a lock of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear, trying to memorize this beauty to carry him through the decades of solitude ahead. 

_Halone,_ he prayed. _Of all the gods, she is most Thy instrument - give her the strength to see this through, and keep the corruption at bay until the Exarch arrives._

_Menphina, Thou watcheth over lovers - watcheth over mine._

_Thaliak - Thou art the one who most closely guardeth me. Help me. Help my beloved._

_Nymeia, Thou watchest the fate of all the children of Eorzea. Though we be on distant shores, I beg Thee to guide her steps safely home, and to a destiny of joy and happiness, even an it includeth me not._

_Nald and Thal, I beg Thee, close the doors to Thy halls, and let her not pass that way._

Urianger wanted to continue, but he felt the elevator come to a stop. He reached out to the one being that might be able to take a more direct hand.

 _Hydaelyn, she beareth Thy blessing. Bring my beloved safely through this madness, then do as Thou wilt with me. Anything, anything at all, for her._ Much as Urianger expected, the gods and the mother crystal remained silent.

The doors opened, and he leaned down for one last, desperate kiss, before they proceeded.

Lord Vauthry had his back to them, hunched over _something_ on his dais. Wet, sloppy sounds of mastication echoed off the marble walls, and the room was in a state of disarray.

“Lord Vauthry!” Alphinaud called, his voice steely with anger. “Your reign of tyranny is at an end! For too long you have preyed upon the desperation of the poor! Now you will answer for the suffering you have caused.” The corpulent man on the dais paid them no mind. He didn’t even turn from his meal, but Alphinaud soldiered on all the same. “And if you harbor even a _shred_ of remorse, I beseech you to use your powers to redress the balance. For the future of all in Norvrandt.”

Beside the boy, Ryne began to shudder. “No… It can’t be,” she whispered. All their gazes turned to her, and Alphinaud took a step toward her, his anger evaporating in concern. “This is wrong. It’s _wrong!_ ” He reached for her, and she stepped into his arms. “The Warden - it’s not just a sin eater. It’s a _man!_ ” She turned her face away in disgust, clinging to Alphinaud as if he could make her unsee whatever her oracular vision had shown her.

On the dais, Vauthry’s eating slowed, and he turned his head around like an owl to survey them, taking a few moments to swallow. “Remorse? For the future of all? What nonsense is this?” His body roiled unsettlingly beneath his robes. “There is no justice but mine. No future but mine. No _will_ but mine.” 

The Champion gripped her rapier and took a step forward, but the _thing_ continued. “It is preordained. I was born to deliver this wretched world.” 

Vauthry turned his head back around the right way, and began mumbling to himself. “Me? Unseated? No, no, no, no, no…” He dropped his fork, an entire lump of meol on its tines, as his anger grew. “It’s impossible. Inconceivable! _Absurd!_ I am a great and wise king. Greatest and wisest! I reign from on high.” 

Urianger watched as his beloved began creeping forward, her blade at the ready, and for a flicker of a heartbeat, he envied her ability to learn the arts of war so easily. He knew for a fact that she had not trained with a rapier near as long as he had, yet her footwork was exquisite, and he already knew without having to spar that she was a far sight better than he.

“I will not be brought low by _maggots like you!_ ” Vauthry shrieked, and he began slamming his fists into the dais, throwing a tantrum much like those typical of unruly children. The Champion took a step back in shock, and after a moment, he stopped, leaving the room in deathly silence.

“Oh yes, of course,” Vauthry said, his composure taking back over. “I can begin again. Rebuild my paradise. Once I finish my dinner…” He reached out for the fork he had dropped just a few moments before, and swallowed it, along with the meol.

“Oh gods, no -” Ryne said, pulling herself away from Alphinaud and turning to Thancred. “Stop him. _Thancred_ ,” she cried, her face pale with fear. “Stop him!”

The man moved without question, his gunblade already in his hands, but a pair of undersized wings sprang from Vauthry’s back, and he let out an animalistic roar that seemed to disrupt all thought. Through the haze, Urianger could see his beloved clutching her head in her hands, and the ruby pommel of the Ascian’s rapier glimmered.

With a single glance back at them, Vauthry flew out through the large windows behind his dais.

“Where did he go?” Alphinaud cried as they regained their composure. A great rumbling shook the very room, and the Champion moved her feet into a wider stance, bracing herself to keep her balance. As soon as it stopped, they all ran out onto Vauthry’s balcony, their eyes wide at the sight of Mount Gulg floating above Kholusia.

“How are we going to get up there?” The Champion asked, looking directly at Urianger.

“Wait,” Alphinaud interrupted. “That is Mt. Gulg, the highest peak in Kholusia. It lies on the other side of a sheer cliff, and much as I wish it were otherwise, it is beyond our reach for now.” He raised a hand to his head and sighed. “But even if it _weren’t_ \- there are people here who need our help.”

Alisaie sighed, and smiled at her twin. “Oh, Alphinaud...”

“Please,” the boy asked the Champion, “even if it’s only to tend to their wounds.”

She smiled at him. “You don’t need _my_ permission.” But he thanked her all the same.

Ryne stepped forward. “I don’t know if it will work, but if Vauthry’s hold over the people is rooted in Light, I _might_ be able to reverse its effects.” She swallowed nervously, looking pleadingly at the boy. “Will you let me try?”

The smile Alphinaud gave her was dazzling, and Urianger decided he was going to join his beloved in the betting, if they made it through this. Though Ryne was still much too young, in a few years she would _not_ be, and, as had been pointed out repeatedly, they were trapped on the First. There was no harm in building a life here.

“Of course,” the boy said. “We’d be grateful for any help you can provide.” 

Ryne’s answering smile brought a blush to Alphinaud’s cheeks, and Alisaie coughed. “Well then, if it’s decided, let’s all get to work.”

As the others left, Urianger remained on the balcony, staring at his beloved, coming to the realization that his prayers had granted him at least this little solace. Though it was most certainly borrowed, he had a little more time to bask in the light of her love. His feet began to move of their own volition, faster and faster, and he bowled into her, pinning her against the marble balustrade as his mouth claimed hers in delirious relief.


	22. Kholusia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people of Norvrandt come together to build the greatest Talos the First has ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG OOF! 
> 
> I hope you all are ready for the next chapter. Gonna be a doozy to write.

When Urianger finally pulled away for breath, the Champion laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Still upset Thancred interrupted us in Gatetown?” she teased.

He blushed lightly in chagrin. “I merely feared for thee, and I still do. Thou must forgive my protectiveness.”

She chuckled. “We _should_ go help with the healing, hmm? You are rather competent at it.”

“I wouldst much prefer to linger a while with _thee_ ,” Urianger replied, and leaned in to kiss her again, but she pulled away, glancing past him to the messy remains of Vauthry’s meal. 

“Not here,” she said, shaking her head. “This whole city is _wrong._ ” His face must have fallen, because she reached up and touched it, giving him another smile. “I didn’t say, ‘No,’ I said, ‘Not _here_.’ There are a few small villages nearby. After we’re done helping Alphinaud we can slip off to one of them.” She winked playfully. “ _After_ we help the people here.”

Urianger found helping the locals simple, but absorbing. While his lover flitted about, giving sedatives to those most affected by Vauthry’s control, he set about healing wounds and offering what small words of comfort came to him, but his eyes kept darting to Ryne. The girl was going to get herself aethersick if she did not slow down. Just as he had resolved himself to say something to Thancred, he noticed Y’shtola whispering something to Alphinaud, and the boy left, mid-conversation, to attend to the girl. He shook his head, and when he turned back. Alisaie was beside him. “Do you think those two have _any_ chance with Y’shtola and your…” she trailed off, and her face reddened as she looked away for a moment, before continuing. “...with Y’shtola and the Champion so obviously trying to push them together.”

He smiled weakly. “They hath no more chance than I, sadly.”

Alisaie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Urianger shrugged and stood. “‘Twould seem Y’shtola and Thancred saw the affection growing betwixt myself and my beloved long before either of us knew it wert there. I fear that in this instance, they may have the right of it again, though if thy brother realizes his affections before she is of age, I wilt not defend him from Thancred.”

The girl laughed, and rustled the rapier at her hip. “Thancred will be the least of his problems.” She paused, and finally brought herself to look up at him. “I thought there was no one for you but Moenbryda.”

“So didst I,” Urianger said lamely. He knew this was a conversation they had to have, at some point, but he didn’t feel that _here_ and _now_ was the place for it. “Lady Alisaie, mayhaps-”

“Why did it have to be her!?” she asked, looking away. “Of all the people it could have been, why _her_?”

Urianger flinched. “Lady Alisaie, I fear that -”

“I had moved on from _you_ , you know? I had finally found someone I thought I could have something real with, someone who wouldn’t…” Alisaie grimaced viciously, her teeth bared. “And then you had to come along and sweep her off her feet before I had the chance. Was breaking my heart once not _enough_ for you?”

He took a step toward the girl, wracking his brain for what to say, but she turned and ran off, vanishing into the circuitous halls of the city.

“Let her go,” Thancred said, coming up behind him. “If you run after her, you’ll just give her hope. And that would be the crueler thing.” He placed a hand on Urianger’s shoulder. “Right now, she’s looking for someone to blame. You can speak to her again once she’s had some more time to come to grips with it.”

“If thou think it best,” he replied, and went back to his work.

* * *

Alphinaud was standing over Ryne when Urianger approached. “We’ve done all we can for the wounded,” he said, then turned to look at the gathering crowd. “As for the rest…” The Eulmorans seemed to be waiting for something.

A rather plush Mystel woman stepped forward, eyeing the boy in confusion. “U-Um… a-aren’t you Alphinaud? The painter boy? What in the world is going on? Did something happen to us?” 

Urianger raised an eyebrow and looked at the boy, but his beloved, coming up beside him, giggled behind her hand. _A tale for another day,_ he thought, and smiled in satisfaction. At least now there would be at least one more day.

Alphinaud turned to the Champion, and pursed his lips. “Let me handle this.” She nodded her ascent, and his face lightened a little, seeing there would be no argument. He strode purposefully towards the crowd, taking a place before the bar where he might be seen and heard clearly. When he reached the optimum place, he closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts, the movement a mimic of the same way Master Louisoix had always prepared to deliver hard news. 

“Citizens of Eulmore,” Alphinaud began. “What I’m about to tell you will come as a shock.” He proceeded to tell them what had happened in full. Not just that they had been controlled during the assault, but the truth that they had _not_ been controlled as they gave themselves over to debauchery and nihilism. Urianger felt a strange sort of pride in the boy, as he laid out this truth for them, not unkind, but not hiding the severity of their choices from them. _He is his grandfather’s heir_ , Urianger thought, and smiled. _Of that there can be no doubt._ When the boy finished taking them to task, he held his chin high. “You have dreamed a twisted dream, but now you are awake. You may yet share this world of ours. Join with us and each other, that we might begin anew.” He looked up toward the ceiling, his jaw set. “We’ve lost so many already. We dare not lose any more.”

Alphinaud swallowed, as if suddenly realizing he was speaking before a crowd, and the boyish uncertainty returned to him. He shuffled back over to the group, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I have said my piece. My thanks for giving me the chance.” 

Urianger felt his beloved pull away, and she wrapped her arms around the boy. “You were _amazing_ , Alphinaud.” He grinned, and glanced up at Urianger.

“Thy grandfather couldst not have done any better, my child,” he said, and patted the boy on the head.

“Still,” Alphinaud rubbed the back of his neck, “it’s up to them what they will do with what lies before them. There is nothing more to be done here. Let us go after Vauthry.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” a middle-aged man in the crowd asked. The Champion let go of the boy, a proud smile on her face, and motioned him towards the crowd, even as a look shock took over Alphinaud’s face. Urianger laughed internally. _He didst not think his words wouldst stir them._ The boy turned to the crowd, and the man continued. “You risked your lives to bring us to our senses, a-and I for one hope to repay that debt. Begin anew, as you said.”

Alphinaud stood staring in dumb silence for a moment, so Y’shtola took over. “Vauthry has fled to Mt. Gulg, and we mean to pursue him. Do any of you know the way?”

Soon, the crowd was discussing the various ways of reaching the peak, but they quickly ruled out airships, and a climb. An elderly woman mentioned a lift referred to as the Ladder, but noted it had been broken down for years, as it was powered by a now-defunct Talos. At the mention of the golems, the plush Mystel woman became excited, and proclaimed her husband was the heir of Daedalus Stoneworks, who produced the Talos. Though he took some cajoling, his wife’s doleful looks soon convinced him to assist.

Beside Urianger, Thancred laughed and elbowed him jovially in the ribs. “Well, good to know it’s not just men from the Source who can be wrapped around a woman’s little finger.”

Urianger turned his gaze to the Hyur, and said, teasingly. “As if thou hast room to talk.”

Thancred looked confused, “What are you talking about?” But the Champion raised a hand to her mouth and laughed.

* * *

“So, Urianger, was it?” The plush Mystel woman, whom Alphinaud had said was called Dulia-Chai, approached. “It is so lovely to have you here with us.” 

He stopped his work, and stood, bowing politely. “Fair glad I am thou hast seen fit to assist us, my lady. Is there any way I can be of service?”

Dulia blushed behind her hand and tittered. “So formal, too! I thought I’d come say hello and get to know you! How do you know young Alphinaud and his assistant?”

“His assistant?” Urianger asked, dubiously, but Dulia pointed to the Champion, and he laughed. “The lady and I art engaged, my lady.”

Dulia practically shrieked in delight. “A wedding? There’s going to be a _wedding_! Darling! _Darling!_ ” She ran off towards her husband, gushing about weddings, and soon found her way back to Urianger, her husband in tow. “You must let us plan something special, my dear. After all you and yours have done for us…”

Urianger lifted a hand. “It is my lady thou must bargain with, I fear. Were it up to me we wouldst be married in a simple ceremony without witnesses and return to our lives without much interruption.” A devilish grin spread across his face. “But you shouldst speak to both she, and her dearest friend, the Lady Y’shtola,” he pointed the Miqo’te out to her. “I am quite sure they wouldst appreciate thy input.” 

Dulia nigh-squealed, and rushed over to Y’shtola, dragging her husband in her wake, while Urianger returned to his work. A moment later, Thancred was beside him, snickering. “She’s going to have your head, you know.”

“Mayhaps,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin. “But ‘tis worth it, in my estimation, for the amusement it will bring to my beloved in this trying time.”

Thancred grinned wickedly. “I hope you like frills, then, because that woman is going to pile them on her wedding gown.”

“If I wert thee, I wouldst be more concerned with the number of frills she intends for thy suit,” Urianger retorted.

“ _My_ suit?” Thancred asked, laughing.

“Aye,” Urianger replied. “If at the end of this, my beloved will still have me, I expect thee to stand beside me on that blessed day.”

Thancred frowned. “I’m honored, Urianger, really, but you need to stop talking like that.”

“Givest me trouble over mine cadence _again_?” He said, shaking his head. When they’d met initially, long ago, Thancred had spent months trying to get Urianger to speak normally. 

“No, not at all,” Thancred waved a hand dismissively. “I mean acting like things with her are temporary.”

“Temporary,” Urianger said, befuddled. “I have asked for her hand, and she hath accepted. I fear thy morals be looser than I thought if thou think’st that _temporary_.”

“I mean saying things like ‘if she will still have me’,” Thancred replied. “The only thing that could separate you two is death, I think. But if that’s what you meant, you’d say, ‘if she is still here.’”

Urianger looked down at the Talos he was repairing. “I be not worthy of her, and I fear she shall realize it.”

“How long are you going to operate under the assumption that she doesn’t know you, Urianger? You can’t have it both ways: either she’s been your friend for years, and knows what she’s getting into; or you have been lying to her from the start, and then, well, her ire isn’t the only thing you have to worry about.” Thancred’s frown deepened when he didn’t respond. “Urianger… what are you hiding?”

The Elezen rubbed his forehead; this was the trouble with friends - they could see right through you at the least opportune times. “I shall explain all to thee, after the last Lightwarden be slain.”

As Urianger put the last touches on the Talos, he stood, and looked about for his beloved. His heart lurched to find her in the shadows at the base of the Ladder, in deep conversation with Emet-Selch. The man was leaning over her, his hand braced against the steel strut she was leaning against, but her body language was not that of one who felt threatened. The smiles they exchanged seemed genuine, and when she closed her eyes in a giggle, the Ascian made eye contact with him, and smirked.

Fighting down the desire to go over and engage him in some sort of fisticuffs that Urianger was certain he would lose, he turned back to the Talos, and began channelling his aether into it. As they sprang to life, the crowd began to cheer, and he felt his fiancee come up beside him, and he turned to face her. She smiled, and he smiled back, then bent down to kiss her.

She tasted like blood, chocolate, and salt, but Urianger said nothing.

* * *

As the crowds began to head up to the top, in the wake of the Champion, Urianger went for a walk. As he exited the Ladder proper onto the road, the Ascian fell into step beside him.

“What dost thou want?” he growled, not looking at the man. If he planned to kill him, he would already be dead, and in their last conversation, they had quite established how disadvantageous it would be for Emet-Selch to do anything to him save continue on. _I canst destroy everything without thy assistance,_ he thought ruefully.

“I’m just here to chat,” the Ascian said, affably. “She’s starting to remember who she _is_.”

“She only plays at being thy wife because thou hast put her over a barrel.”

Emet-Selch grinned wickedly. “That is a lovely thought, isn’t it.” Urianger groaned, but he continued. “I don’t mean her relationship to me, I mean her place in Amaurot.”

“Amaurot?” Urianger asked, hesitantly. The word resonated with him, like a memory from a dream.

“Yes…” The Ascian’s voice turned wistful. “She was the glittering jewel of Amaurot - the best and brightest of us - and I was the lucky man that won her heart, despite the competition. To know her was to love her, and to love her was to despair, for she would give her heart to none save me.” He sighed, and looked back towards the top of the Ladder, as if he could see her. 

“Why art thou telling me this?” Urianger asked. 

“Because she is starting to remember - her history, her power, her place by my side.” Emet-Selch placed a hand on his chest and spun, as if waltzing with himself, a light blush on his cheeks. “Just as you are a pale shadow of whomever you were in that ancient city, so too is your love a pale shadow of what she could have.” He span a little closer to Urianger. “But, I am a man of my word, if nothing else. The offer is still open, if you wish to join us.”

Urianger wanted to say no; in truth, he wanted to pummel the Ascian into the dust of the road until it was slick with his blood, but he had to ask. “What wouldst thou give me?”

“What?” he asked, his dancing slowing to a stop. “What did you say?”

“I asked what thou wouldst give me, if I agreed to be _bound_ with thee.”

Emet-Selch grinned, “As I said before, Urianger, name your price.”

He raised a hand to stop him. “Foolish though I may yet be, even I knowest better than to make the first offer in negotiations.”

The Ascian’s smile widened. “Oh, this is going to be magnificent.”

* * *

Ultimately, Urianger and Emet-Selch did not reach an agreement that day, but they did agree on a time to discuss the matter further - after the Champion had beaten the Lightwarden and absorbed its essence. Not that Urianger had any desire to actually see an agreement reached; he merely felt that knowing what the Ascian wanted, and was prepared to give, could only be advantageous.

When Urianger reached the top of the Ladder, Alphinaud ran over to him, calling his name. “It’s she and Alisaie,” the boy said, panting. “They left the village quite a while ago, looking for a path to Mt. Gulg.”

Urianger frowned. “And thou art worried that they hath not yet returned?”

“Normally, I would not be,” Alphinaud straightened, his breathing still heavy. “But I know that you and Alisaie had an… altercation, earlier. My sister’s temper can be tempestuous.”

“Think’st thou that _I_ am the best person for this job?” He pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“Yes,” Alphinaud ran put his hands on his hips. “Alisaie needs to accept that she and the Champion is never going to happen, just like I did.”

_’To know her was to love her,’_ the Ascian had said, _‘and to love her was to despair.’_

“Twelve…” Urianger mumbled. “Didst all of thee want her at some point?”

Alphinaud laughed. “You didn’t know? The only one who’s ever been immune to her charms was Thancred, but he’s the expert, apparently?” The boy’s smile was gracious. “Though, considering what I begin to suspect…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a question for another time, I fear. About Thancred, I mean. And Y’shtola.”

Urianger put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “If thou hast begun to see what I suspect thou hast, then take this word of advice: there are some secrets our friends wouldst gladly die for, and some that they wouldst kill for. Hold thy tongue on the subject, lest you discover down which road _that_ secret lies.”

Alphinaud swallowed. “Right. Well, please try to make sure your fiancee doesn’t -” His tongue stilled and his eyes widened. “E-Exarch!” 

Urianger turned, and indeed, there stood G’raha Tia, in the flesh, his cowl pulled low to hide his face. A soft smile twisted the man’s lips. “What was that about Urianger’s fiancee?”

* * *

The Exarch accompanied him as he slowly picked his way towards the base of Mt. Gulg, where Alphinaud had said the Champion and Alisaie were heading.

“I hope you have not lost your nerve, Urianger,” G’raha said, his face turned up towards the gold-haloed mountain floating above their heads. “I know this can’t have been easy for you.”

Urianger shrugged. “If anything, this past fortnight hath strengthened my resolve, tumultuous though it hath been.”

The Exarch tilted his head. “Oh? I notice you are not _bound_.”

“There is a complication in that matter,” he said. “She refuses to join with me while she is still attached to the Ascian.”

“Interesting.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, at least we still have my plan. And I have taken the liberty of having all the books on the subject of bindings, both Allagan and more recent, sent to Bookman’s Shelves. After this is over, she should still be able to make the jump, now that she’s attuned to the aetherytes on the First, and collect them.”

Urianger frowned, but said nothing. Instead, he focused on a sound in the distance - ringing steel.

He and G’raha Tia looked at each other in concern. 

“My lady,” Urianger whispered.

“Alisaie,” the Exarch said, and the two men hurried towards the sounds.

They found Alisaie and the Champion near an old patina-covered gate, their rapiers drawn. Though the girl was giving this fight her all, Urianger was secretly relieved to see that she was no match for his beloved, who only moved to keep the girl from landing a blow. 

“Wasn’t it enough?” Alisaie cried, a shrill whistle keening through the air as she brought the rapier around. “You had all of us, you could have had _any_ of us.” The older woman easily avoided the blows, always staying just a hair’s breadth out of reach. “You knew how I feel about him. You know how I feel about _you_! I thought you were my friend!”

“I am, Alisaie,” her voice was gentle, even in the midst of battle. “But love does not bend to our will as easily as that.”

Urianger closed his eyes, and he heard the Ascian’s words, again. _’To know her was to love her, and to love her was to despair.’_

The girl’s fighting became less skilled as she became more incensed. “Did you have to be so selfish? You could have tried to love _someone else_!”

Something snapped inside the Champion, and she began to advance on Alisaie, her movements shifting to the offensive. “I _did_ , actually. I did my _damnedest_ to love someone else, and he loved me back.” The Ascian’s sword flashed in the eternal light overhead as it moved with breathtaking speed. “And do you know what happened to him, Alisaie? Do you know what wages he received for his courtly devotion? For his patience while I tried to _force_ myself to feel something for him? While I tried to close my eyes and forget it wasn’t Urianger’s lips on mine?” Pressing her advantage, he watched as she caught the guard of the girl’s rapier on her own and ripped it from the child’s hands, then flung it to the ground. “Haurchefant _died_. He died right in front of my eyes, taking a mortal blow meant for me.” She leveled her own rapier at Alisaie, again. “I swore to myself, after I buried him, that I would not pursue anyone who did not pursue me _first._ I would not bring anyone into this madness that did not choose it for themselves, without my input. And that narrows the list down to two: Urianger, and Emet-Selch.”

Tears welled in Alisaie’s eyes. “And me,” she whispered.

The Champion shook her head. “No. Not you. You were still a child. Now pick up your weapon.”

The girl moved slowly past the Champion, and picked up her rapier, resheathing it. Urianger watched his beloved close her eyes, and breathe deeply for a few moments, then sheath her own. 

Though the fighting had finished, Alisaie was not yet done with the argument. “So you’re just going to let Urianger rush headlong to his death, then?”

Beside him, Urianger heard G’raha Tia hiss softly.

“That man ever does what he desires,” the Champion said. “But I have made contingencies.”

“Contingencies?” Alisaie asked.

The Champion ran her fingers over the basket of the Ascian’s rapier, and his mark seemed to glimmer at her touch. “Emet-Selch would do nearly anything I asked, for my capitulation.”

“Why don’t you just _go_ to him, then?” Alisaie asked, her face cruel. “Run off with the Ascian and leave us in peace.”

“Tell me, Alisaie,” the woman turned to the girl, and she stared her down, her face unreadable. “If I were to ‘run off with the Ascian’, as you put it: how long do you think any of you would survive?”

The two women stared at each other for a long moment, and Urianger felt it was time to intervene. He and the Exarch began to make much noise as they approached the rest of the way. “There you are,” Urianger said. “Alphinaud was afeared you had met with some misfortune.”

Alisaie’s face went pale with shock. “Urianger! ... And you too, Exarch! What brings you here?”

Urianger stared at his beloved, assessing her. No physical injuries, at least, but her face was haggard.

“I wish to observe the final struggle with my own eyes,” the Exarch said, smiling fondly at Alisaie. “I arrived at the Bottom Rung too late to accompany you, but I was in time to join Urianger and the others.” He approached the girl, and threw a companionable arm about her shoulders. “Come, let us see how this unfolds.”

* * *

“... In short,” Thancred said, “There’s no path, and the sky is thick with Vauthry’s winged devils.”

“We might consider amaro,” Alphinaud said, but then he frowned. “But without extensive training, we cannot hope to contend with the eaters.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Eulmore’s airship fleet, meanwhile, consists solely of transport vessels ill-suited for battle. And without the expertise of one such as Cid, we are in no position to attempt a refit.”

They all stood in thought a time, but then Dulia-Chai’s voice broke through. “Oh, It’s so _frustrating_!” She turned to her husband and scowled. “That wretched mountain should jolly well come back down to earth!”

Her husband reached for her affectionately, scratching her behind one of her ears, and Dulia smiled winsomely. “Now, now, dearest,” he said. “We mustn’t disturb these good people at their work.” He sighed. “We’ve ridden the Ladder and seen the sights. It’s past time we took our leave.”

Y’shtola’s eyes snapped open. “The lady may well have the right of it.” Everyone stepped back in shock, save the Champion, who grinned at her dear friend. “Mt. Gulg will not soon come down to earth, nor can we compel it to do so. But if the mountain will not come to the land, mayhap the land may be made to come to the mountain…” The Miqo’te looked up towards the mountain. “In the form of a Talos. A Talos large enough to reach out and _take_ the volcano in its grasp.”

Urianger rubbed his chin. “To build such a golem would be an onerous undertaking indeed… yet the principle seemeth sound in itself.”

“Balderdash,” Chai-Nuzz declared from his wife’s side. “No one has ever made one even half that size!” He shook his head. “Leaving aside the small matter of logistics - which, by the way, would be _no small matter_ \- the design would need to be _unimaginably_ complex.” The Mystel raised a hand to his chin as the thought worked through his mind. “Though, I suppose… Hmm… If its only function is to cling to the ruddy mountain, perhaps it needn’t be… A solid base, firmly rooted to the ground - sacrifice mobility to simplify the construction, reducing materials required…” The man stopped when he realized everyone was staring at him. “Wait, wait, wait! What am I thinking!? We would still need a veritable _army_ of people to do the work.” He shook his head. “Left to the crew that helped down below, it would take decades, fi not a nice round century.”

“So we need more hands,” Alisaie said. She did not look at Urianger or the Champion, but she seemed content to let her anger lie for now. “And what sort of things would these hands be required to do?”

* * *

After all was said and done, they had their tasks, and though Urianger hated to leave the Champion’s side, he knew the work was important. He headed to the Crystarium, and made overtures to the citizenry, who were only too eager to assist once he mentioned the Crystal Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness were involved. All told, he was three days away from her, and when he mounted the Amaro that would return him to Kholusia, he could not have been more relieved.

When he reached the small village, Amity, that had become their erstwhile base, for lack of better facilities, he was moderately distressed to see that his beloved was not there. Chai-Nuzz, Lady Dulia’s husband, mentioned that she had gone to speak with some dwarves - _Lalafell,_ Urianger mentally corrected him - and was expected to return shortly.

He took a glass of wine and a place on the small tavern’s veranda, watching the assemblage move about. Though he had summoned the people of the Crystarium, upon their arrival they immediately began answering to the Exarch again, and he was glad of it, seeing Y’shtola and the others ordering about those they had managed to gather.

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see the Champion approaching, walking amiably with Alphinaud. Their eyes met, as she glanced toward the town, and Urianger raised his wine glass to her, a soft smile playing on his lips. She smiled back, and took off towards him at a run, not stopping until she had sprung up and stood on the railing of the veranda, and leaned down to kiss him.

“I missed you,” she said, when they parted, and he reached up and touched the side of her face. 

“And I, thee,” Urianger replied.

“Oooohh!!” Dulia-Chai cheered and turned to her husband. “It’s so _terribly_ romantic, isn’t it, darling?”

“Yes,” Thancred replied, deadpan, as Chai-Nuzz was too busy with his calculations to notice the excited comments of his wife.

“ _Terribly,_ ” Y’shtola echoed, and put a hand on her hip. But a smile graced her face all the same. “I wish we could spare some time for you two to have a proper reunion, but there is work to be done.”

Urianger sighed irritably. “Canst we not have five minutes?”

Thancred grinned wickedly. “It’ll only take you five minutes?”

Before Urianger could answer, the Champion blew Thancred a playful kiss. “I’m just that good.”

Thancred and Y’shtola both burst into laughter, and a moment later, so did Urianger. “All right, All right,” Y’shtola held up her hand. “Five minutes. But then we _must_ proceed.”

Without response, Urianger grabbed his beloved’s hand, and dragged her into the tavern. A few people were in there taking a break, as most had been at the mining for hours, but he paid them no mind, instead finding a secluded corner where he could have some semblance of privacy with his fiancee.

“Was everything all right at the Crystarium?” she asked, even as her arms were hooking themselves behind his neck.

“Quite. Didst thou have any troubles here whilst I was away?” He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair and kissing her neck just below her ear.

“No more than usual,” she murmured. “The biggest trouble was trying to sleep alone. I’ve gotten too used to having you beside me.”

He chuckled. “I wouldst apologize, but ‘twould be a lie, my lady. I am perversely pleased that thou hast trouble sleeping without me.”

She laughed into the kisses he gave her until Y’shtola came to collect them.

* * *

It was strangely inspiring, being reminded of how far they had come in such a short time. People from every corner of Norvrandt had arrived to help them assemble the Talos, sharing the same dream - returning night to all of the First, and freeing themselves from the tyranny of Light. And at the center of it all was the Champion. Urianger saw her through new eyes after his conversation with the Ascian, and hearing what she had said about her attempts to find love with Haurchefant. No matter what happened when his deception was laid bare, she would be all right. Others loved her, and more would, if Emet-Selch was to be believed. She had attempted to love someone else - even if it hadn’t worked before, it had a better chance once his lies had killed whatever bit of him she held in her heart. 

And Urianger himself? He resolved to return to take whatever punishment, whatever penance she and their friends demanded for his transgressions. Let her have the closure she needed, and then he would retire to his lifetime of solitude, to dance through empty halls with the memories of what it was to be loved by her. Knowing what was to come, and what it would most likely do to him, he bore the Ascian no ill will, not anymore.

“Urianger,” Y’shtola said, shaking him from his reverie. She pointed to his place, to channel his aether into the heart of the Talos, so that they could begin the climb to Mt. Gulg. He looked back at the Champion, and she smiled at him, warm and inviting. He wanted to go to her, to spirit her away from here - sabotage the Talos and live the lie for the rest of their days. But that was not the bargain he had made, nor was it the type of man he was. He had prayed for a reprieve, and been granted his borrowed time - and now that time was up.

With a heavy heart, Urianger took his position, and called for the Talos that would tear Mt. Gulg from the heavens - and all his dreams along with it.


	23. The Crown of the Immaculate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Darkness topples the last Lightwarden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'll excuse me, I'm going to be in my feelings.

The Talos was ugly, brutish, and an excellent reflection of how Urianger felt as he watched it rise. This was the end of his dreams, and he would watch them crumble with both eyes open, Twelve save him. 

The cloud of sin eaters protecting the mountain swarmed the golem, and after realizing they could do little to construct itself, they began to focus on its hands, attempting to prevent its victory. Without words, he and Y’shtola began to cast, hoping to distract the sin eaters long enough for the Talos to achieve its aims, but the incantations died on their lips as Feo Ul, in her radiance as Titania, appeared on the horizon, surrounded by her subjects.

The King of the Fae gave Urianger a withering look. “Such a heartless thing our sapling is! Cold and cruel and _heartless!_ Summon us in times of need, we _expressly_ said - yet what should we find but the final battle joined without so much as a _whisper_ of our name!” She waved her scepter, and raw aether shot out, a scythe in the harvest of the enemy. “Yes, yes, we may also have said that we fae folk have no interest in the struggles of men - but if our _adorable_ sapling had come crying to us for help, we would of _course_ have flown to her aid! Of course we would!” She gave Urianger a rueful smile, and shook her head, sighing. “What are we to do with her?” Without waiting for an answer, Feo Ul flew towards the enemy. 

“Your lover should be here shortly,” Y’shtola said with a mirthful smile. “Are you ready for the show?”

_No,_ he wanted to scream, but as if on queue, his beloved appeared amongst the rocks. 

“Let’s go,” she said, rapier in one hand, while her other grabbed Urianger’s own, and pulled him after her.

Climbing the Talos was a ridiculous venture, with all of them laughing and trading jokes while laying waste to the sin eaters that attempted to deny their ascent. When she noticed his brooding face, the Champion threw her arms around him, and kissed him. “Smile for me, Urianger,” she said.

“I cannot, my lady,” he replied, but he wrapped his arms around her. “I am afraid of what awaits us at the end of this madness.”

“The absolute worst thing that could happen is that I will die,” she said, laughing. “And if that is what awaits, then I would die with a smile on my face and laughter in my heart. Anything else - _anything else_ \- we will find our way through.” She kissed him again, and he finally understood how terrified she truly was.

* * *

The Champion stood, panting, as the powerful sin eater before the gates to Vauthry’s abode fell, dissipating into ambient Light aether. She wiped her face with her free hand, but it did nothing for the crimson cast exertion had lent to her cheeks. _And she ever continueth, exhausted though she be,_ Urianger thought. He had come to know her well enough to see the betraying signs: she kept her stance wider than usual, to hide the shake of her knees; she flexed her hand on the hilt of her rapier, over and over; and her smile did not reach her eyes.

“The end is near, my friends,” Alphinaud said. “We have found Vauthry’s hiding place.”

“Unrepentant villains,” the abomination’s voice called from beyond the marble steps. “Will you not be satisfied until you have brought disaster down upon your own heads? By your wickedness, you stand to gain naught but ceaseless conflict!” The Champion rolled her eyes and moved to Urianger’s side. Greedily, he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, enjoying a few last moments of peace with her, while Vauthry continued his raving. 

“Had you only entrusted your fate to me,” the echoing voice continued, “there would have been peace for all. You could have lived in bliss in my eternal paradise, free from the burdens of conscience and purpose!”

“Peace assumes many forms,” Alphinaud said, staring at the ground, “and I do not doubt that you considered yours well worth the cost. I was even prepared to believe that the end might justify the means.” He clenched his fists. “Ignorant as I was, I had hoped you might mend your ways and join hands with us. That we might strive together for the happiness of all…” The boy looked up the steps, his face hard. “But no more. Your actions cannot be reconciled with your words. ‘Peace for all,’ you say, yet when you were threatened, your first act was to sacrifice your own people in order to save yourself.” He took a step forward, and began to shout, his anger getting the better of him. “If your ‘paradise’ can be rebuilt so long as you _alone_ survive, it exists not for the people. It exists solely for your twisted pleasure!”

Ryne stepped up beside him. “Hear me, Vauthry. The people won’t submit to your will. For we each have our own.” She placed her hand on her chest. “I made a promise to a noble soul - a woman who saw fit to entrust me with her legacy - and I mean to keep it.” Thancred looked to the girl, and swallowed hard, then looked away. “Everyone who stands with us has something precious, something that they cherish and would die to protect.” Urianger’s grip on the Champion tightened. Y’shtola glanced at Thancred, and Thancred glanced at Ryne again, as she continued. “They know their own hearts. They know what they want for this world. And by lending their strength to our cause, they have spoken! No matter how hard you may try to bend the world to your will, we will never yield!”

Alphinaud stared at Ryne, thunderstruck, a blush creeping across his cheeks. He opened his mouth to say something, but Vauthry’s voice echoed down from above.

“ _Silence!_ ” he screamed, “Not another word!” Urianger felt his beloved tense, and she pulled away from him, raising her rapier as she looked above them. Sin eaters were gathering above their heads. “You presume to lecture me?” Vauthry continued, “Insolent worms! You will learn your place!” More and more sin eaters began to appear around them. “With my true powers awakened, I will expunge you like the filth you are. Your demise will serve as a reminder to all that _I_ am the zenith of mankind and sin eater both, chosen to rule over creation by right of transcendence! My very existence is virtuous! I am perfect! _Immaculate!_ ”

“He seems disinclined to grant us an audience,” Y’shtola said, glancing at the Champion.

Alphinaud nodded to the Champion. “Find Vauthry. We will hold the eaters here.”

Urianger saw his beloved turn to him, words hovering on her lips. He silenced them with a kiss, _the last kiss,_ he thought, and a tear slipped out of his eye unbidden. Then he pushed her away from him towards the stairs. “Live,” he whispered, then raised his astrolabe, and she vanished behind a wall of descending sin eaters.

* * *

Urianger raced up the stairs. The sin eaters, all of them, had stopped, hanging in the air as if momentarily free from whatever control Vauthry imposed. _Something_ had happened, and he could only hope that the Champion had triumphed. 

Relief washed over him as he reached the top of the stairs to find her standing before a body that he could only assume had been Vauthry’s true form. She turned to him and smiled. He wanted to run to her, again, but the weight on his heart was too much. He could only stand and stare, like a fool, memorizing every detail of her, from the blood spots spattered on her boots, to the way her hair fluttered, a banner of victory, in the wind.

The figure on the ground began to stir, and she turned back to it, rapier at the ready. “Why?” Vauthry asked. “Why am I cast down… when it is you who are the villains?” 

Y’shtola gasped, and clutched Urianger’s arm. He focused on seeing the aetherial, and swallowed. The thin strands of darkness that Emet-Selch had left, holding back the Light within her slipped away. _He did say he wished for her to prove herself,_ Urianger thought. _Thus he removeth his protections when the time for the trial is come._

“Father told me… that I am hope,” Vauthry continued. “I am righteousness. That I am… a _god_...” He looked up at the Champion. “That is why I was born… as man and sin eater both… I kept the people safe! They respected me! Worshipped me!” He began to tremble, and pounded his fist into the ground, but it was weak, his strength already leaving him. “How can this be? I should be the one… looking down at you…” Vauthry’s eyes fixed on the Champion again. “Help me, damn you. I… am your god…”

The Champion did not move, and Vauthry faded into naught but Light Aether. Emet-Selch’s rapier rattled with the shaking of her hand, as the aether flowed into her. It was so _much_ light. Too much, Urianger knew, but for a moment, he hoped against hope, seeing how she seemed to keep control. 

“Look,” Alphinaud said, “The sky!”

Urianger’s eyes shot towards the heavens, and hope leapt in his breast. _Gods above,_ he thought, for a few glorious heartbeats. _She hath done it._ He looked back down at her, and she swayed on her feet, pressing her hand to her head. Urianger’s heart began to thunder in his throat, and he looked towards the stairs. _G’raha Tia… where are you?_

A loud crack echoed around them, and she began to topple over.

“Are you all right?” Alisaie cried, “Say something!” 

Flames of pure aetherial Light lept around the Champion, and she gripped her head harder, the Ascian’s rapier clattering to the ground at her feet.

“Twelve forefend, she cannot contain the Light!” Y’shtola said. “She’s beginning to turn!” The Miqo’te whirled to him. “Urianger, if you’ve aught up your sleeve, _now_ is the time!”

Urianger gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw so hard he felt one of his molars crack. G’raha Tia had said he would come. If he did not, the only option was the binding, but Y’shtola had already refused. He could do it himself, but that would be the _grossest_ violation, to do it without even her dearest friend’s consent when she could not speak for herself.

“It’s changing back!” Ryne cried, looking up at the sky. Sure enough, the unnatural illumination was returning.

Alisaie went to move towards the Champion, but footsteps on the stairs drew her attention, and Urianger wanted to cry out in relief when the Exarch spoke. “The combined power of every Lightwarden is too terrible a burden for any one soul to bear.”

Urianger watched his beloved fall to her knees, her breath a heavy, almost animalistic panting as she fought against the change with every fiber of her being.

“And so I shall relieve you of it,” The Exarch announced. He brandished his staff, and a ring appeared, trapping himself in with the Champion, as he began to siphon the corrupted aether off her.

“Exarch!” Alisaie called, her voice horrified. “What are you _doing_!?”

Y’shtola drew her staff, and began to summon her magic, but Urianger put a hand out to stop her. She looked at him in disbelief.

“I will channel this profusion of power to the Crystal Tower and use it to travel to other worlds,” the Exarch said, hissing from the pain. “As I have dreamed of doing, ever since I first learned of their existence!” His voice became rough, the burden of not only bearing the Light, but pulling it from her, taxing him beyond what he was used to. “Who would choose to remain here, in this dying realm, when they might go elsewhere and begin anew? Not I. And thus… thus did I _use_ you!”

“No…” Ryne said, “No, I don’t believe you! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Damn you!” Alisaie said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “We won’t let you do with her as you please!”

“Do not interfere!” Urianger ordered. The harshness in his voice startled even him, but he kept his eyes fixed on his beloved. They did not know, and _must_ not be allowed to prevent the Miqo’te’s sacrifice. “Please!” his voice almost broke, but he balled his hands into fists. “I beseech you all! _Let him go!_ ” The pain in Urianger’s heart was too much, but this… this was the last act of love he could give her. To see G’raha Tia’s plan through to its end, so that she could be free of the burden of the Light, and the Eighth Umbral Calamity.

“You knew of this, Urianger,” Y’shtola said. Her voice was hard, but not accusatory. She put her staff away, but he still could not look at her. Everyone looked at him, but Y’shtola looked at the Exarch. “‘Tis all a fiction. Such vaguely defined acts of teleportation stand no chance of success. The Exarch will never live to see another world - as he knows only too well.”

Alphinaud frowned. “Then… what does he mean to do?”

Y’shtola’s eyes closed. “He means to take the Light with him into the rift… where he will die. From the beginning, he intended to sacrifice himself to save our friend and Norvrandt.”

The Crystal Exarch chuckled. “At journey’s end, an opportunistic thief makes off with the hero’s prize. A paltry way to end a chapter, I concede.” He smiled to the Champion. “Yet your tale will continue, and my role in it will scarcely be remembered.” She reached for him, weakly, and Urianger closed his eyes. _Even now, with her own life the cost, doth she try to save him from this fate._

“Worry not,” the Exarch continued. “Whatever should become of me, I will be happy and free, safe in the knowledge that I have played my part.” The Light pulsed harder as it flowed between them, and the power of it knocked his cowl from his head.

“G’raha Tia!” the Champion cried out, still reaching for him. Shock filled the Miqo’te’s face.

“Thank you,” he said, swallowing hard. “For fighting for this world. For believing. Fair you well, my friend - my inspiration.” Light filled him, and the crystalline structures that made up part of his body began to hum with the aether - until a gunshot shattered the air.

G’raha Tia collapsed to the ground, and Urianger whirled to Thancred, the only one of them he knew to be carrying a gun, but his weapon was still sheathed. The Elezen turned, dread filling his heart, back to the tableau before him, and kept turning - to see Emet-Selch, gun in hand, standing at the top of the stairs.

The Light swirled back to the Champion’s body, and she shuddered on the ground, while the Ascian lowered his gun. “Only those who possess the Royal Eye of the Allagan Imperial line are capable of controlling the Crystal Tower. Such individuals do not exist in the First.” He stepped forward, eyeing the body before him. “Therefore, in all likelihood, the Exarch arrived here with the tower. This much I had surmised, yet I could not discern his grand scheme.” He chuckled. “To think that he went through all this trouble for the sake of a single hero. It’s almost admirable in its absurdity.” He nudged G’raha Tia’s body with his foot. “Alas, it is not your grand scheme that will succeed, but ours.”

“You _bastard!_ ” Thancred yelled.

“Stay put,” Emet-Selch said, all the warmth with which he had spoken to them gone, now. “Your friend is still alive, but whether he remains so depends on you.” He turned his attention to the Champion, and sighed. “What a disappointment you turned out to be this time. I placed my faith in you. Let myself believe that you could contain the Light. That you could weather the rest of the Rejoinings. That you would be at my side for good this time, _uxor_.” His voice became dark, condescending. “But look at you now, halfway to becoming a monster. Rendered weak and foolish by your efforts to give your love, _my love_ , to someone outside our _bond_. You are unworthy of my patronage.”

The Ascian walked closer to her, and flexed his hand. His rapier returned to him, and vanished into his robes.

“What do you intend to do?” the Champion gasped out weakly.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I am an Ascian. My heart’s sole desire is to usher in the Great Rejoining. A hundred years ago, I entrusted my comrade Loghrif with the task of increasing Light’s sway over this world. This we sought to do by manipulating heroes. When that failed to achieve the desired result, I created Vauthry.” He shot them all a dirty look. “Thanks to your meddling, that too has ended in failure.”

“What was your true purpose in approaching us?” Alphinaud demanded.

Emet-Selch growled in irritation. “By your Twelve, boy, have I not told you before that everything I said was the truth?” He shook his head. “You were specimens by which I might gauge man’s potential as it stands.” His eyes met Urianger’s. “I genuinely had an interest in you. Genuinely considered taking you on as allies, friends and even lovers. Provided _she_ could control the Light.” He looked over his shoulder at his _uxor_ who was on her knees and shuddering from the effort. “If not, then she - and by extension you - would be of no use to me without another Calamity or two. ‘Twas as simple as that.”

Urianger could say nothing. He was still shell-shocked, still weighing the cost of performing the _binding_ himself. Could Emet-Selch undo it if he did? Could the Champion hold out long enough for the Ascian to leave? Would his beloved forgive him if he claimed her against her will? If he did so knowing she would hate him for all time?

“So,” Thancred said sarcastically. “We’ve been found wanting. How disheartening. But even had we fulfilled your conditions, there was no guarantee that we would cooperate. What then?”

Emet-Selch shrugged. “Then I simply kill you all. At the very least, it would restore the world to the way it was before you went about trouncing Lightwardens willy-nilly.” He looked down at G’raha Tia’s unconscious form. “Suffice it to say it would be most inconvenient to have all that Light taken away. And I would be lying if I were to claim his actions didn’t have me worried.”

Another pulse, and the Champion vomited on the ground. What came from her was not normal, but a strange liquid that glowed with aetherial Light. The Ascian smirked as he approached her. “Hm, you still retain your form and your senses… but you have all but become a sin eater.” He squatted on the ground before her, and reached out one gloved hand, lifting her chin. Urianger couldn’t stand to see the terror in her eyes as she knelt, helpless and breaking, before Emet-Selch, who said, “Whether you will it or no, your mere existence will serve to engulf the world in Light, _uxor_. Those in your company will likewise turn into sin eaters, and in time you will succumb to your base instincts and hunt innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether.” The Ascian bit his lip, and stroked his thumb over her jaw. 

“Zodiark,” Emet-Selch whispered, dragging her face to his, “you will be fearsome.” He kissed her, roughly, his hand twisting cruelly in her hair before he released her. “Those few with the will left to fight may rise up against you. But before your absolute might, they will quickly know despair… just like the rest of us.” He chuckled, and lifted a lock of her hair to his nose while she trembled, smirking down at her in her distress. “‘There is no hope! We are finished! _Mankind_ is finished!’” 

The Ascian laughed. “Ahhh, the irony. What Vauthry achieved through bliss, you will achieve through despair, as you ever have.” He released her, and rose to his feet. “But I have overstayed my welcome. I shall look forward to seeing you bring the world to its knees, _uxor_.” He snapped his fingers, and the Exarch’s body vanished.

“Exarch!” Alphinaud called, and Alisaie’s hand went to her mouth.

“I have naught to show for all the time and effort I invested in you,” Emet-Selch said. “He is a small token for my troubles.” He shook his head. “I did not expect that I could learn aught from man, but I may yet learn something from all the knowledge he had hoarded for his precious hero. _My_ precious _uxor_.” He gently lifted himself from the round, and took one last, long look at all of them, before his eyes settled on the Champion. “I pity you. I do. Your friends - even your precious ‘Urianger’ - are now your foes. If you do not kill them, they will kill you, _uxor_. When it all becomes too much to bear, come home to me in my abode, in the dark depths of the Tempest.” He smiled fondly. “There you may complete your descent into madness with some dignity, far from prying eyes, my pet.”

The Champion swayed, and collapsed, no longer able to bear her own weight under the strain. They rushed to her side, and Emet-Selch called, “‘Till then, I bid you farewell… eater.” The Ascian vanished, but they paid him no mind. 

Urianger pulled her into his arms, tears streaming down his face. “Forgive me,” he murmured, over and over, but his beloved convulsed in his arms, unseeing, as blinding bright foam began to pour from her lips. 

“I’m going to try to hold it back,” Ryne declared, but the words made no sense to him. All he could do was keep repeating his desperate plea, rocking her back and forth, trying to find enough focus to cast the _binding_ consequences be damned - but he couldn’t. She was changing in his arms, she had been so afraid, and he had trusted in himself and the Exarch but not _her_ , and now she was paying the price for it.

“He’s _useless_ ,” Y’shtola said, from somewhere far away, but he felt her hand on his shoulder all the same. “Alphinaud, help Ryne.”

Urianger almost smacked away the girl’s hands when they touched his beloved’s face, but that would require letting go of her, so he bore it, dizzy and in pain and upended. He had come unmoored from the whole world when the Exarch fell, the plan to save her in tatters. He watched as Ryne seemed to fold the Light back in upon itself, binding it in a pulsing knot within his beloved’s soul. 

“That should hold it for now, at least…” she mumbled. “But it’s only delaying the inevitable.” Ryne looked up at Thancred. “We need to find a better solution than this, and soon.”

“For now,” Y’shtola said, “we need to get her back to the Crystarium.” She tightened her grip on Urianger. “You need to pull yourself together.”

“She…” the words died on his lips, and he just stared at her. The convulsing had stopped, but his beloved was a catatonic mess, barely breathing.

Urianger saw another pair of hands, masculine, with fingerless leather gloves, move towards her, but they touched his hands where he held her instead. “Urianger,” Thancred’s voice was rough with concern. “We have to get her out of here. We can’t help her here. Can you carry her down the Talos?” The hands squeezed a little tighter on his own. “I promise you, I won’t let anyone take her from you, but we can’t _help_ her, here.” He nodded dumbly, and pulled himself to his feet. Just to the base of the Talos. Thancred sighed in relief. “One step at a time, Urianger. We can do this.”

Together, they moved down the mountain, the others clearing a path for the Elezen who could do little else but clutch the Champion to his chest, and take one step at a time.

* * *

Seto himself carried them back to the Crystarium, in delicate silence. He was the only Amaro large enough to carry two, who was also skilled enough to navigate the air currents with enough stability that they would not be pitched off while being unable to hold on. When they landed, last of their company, Thancred and Y'shtola had cobbled together a stretcher for her. At first, he had not wanted to relinquish his grip on her, but Alphinaud convinced him.

“You are more skilled at monitoring her aether than I,” the boy said. “And while Y’shtola tends to her physical needs, you could better help by tending to the aetherial.”

Urianger could have kissed the boy. It was a job. Work. Something productive to do, some way to prevent the tragedy he felt rushing up beneath his feet. And so he relinquished her to the stretcher, and began a meticulous inventory of her soul, Ryne’s caging, and the Light Aether twisting about inside her, attempting to seize control.

By the time they reached her rooms, they had amassed quite the following, locals clamoring for answers and attention. Thancred and the twins dealt with them, easily enough, while Y’shtola and Ryne attended to her with him. Y’shtola asked him small, simple questions: how did she wear her hair when she slept? Would she prefer the green nightgown, or the white? Would she just want the sheet, or the coverlet as well? The woman saw to all of these details as they worked, and Ryne focused her magic, tightening the coils in which the Light Aether was wrapped, an ouroboros of legend, fighting to be free of its torment.

Finally, Ryne leaned back against the wall, panting. “I’m sorry, Urianger… I can do no more.”

“I thank thee, child,” he said, his voice an unflinching monotone. Y’shtola had left a while ago, to return to Fanow to find out if they might know of any Ronkan magic that could fight this.

The girl placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please, don’t forget what you told me.”

“What wouldst that be?”

“Have faith,” Ryne replied, “and all will be well.”


	24. The Tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion sleeps, and Urianger must confess.

Once he was able to leave her side, the days bled together for Urianger, until in his memory, it was only one long sleepless night, cursed with the eternal Light. He was constantly pouring over tomes with Y’shtola - who it was very obvious was keeping him away from her bedside for prolonged periods to prevent him from performing the _binding_ , now that he had his wits back - and answering their questions. 

He told his friends the truth of his bargain with the Exarch, the plan to sacrifice G’raha Tia to prevent the Calamity and save the Source, along with the Warrior of Light. He showed them the book, and the footnote on page 583. To his surprise, they did not lash out at him, save a few teasing comments about how much trouble he would be in when his beloved awoke. _An she awakes,_ he thought, _I will suffer any punishment she deem fitting._

Every evening, Urianger was permitted to go with Y’shtola to see her. She was much the same, appearing to merely be abed with a fever rather than the more sinister truth. He would hold her hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles, lingering over the ring he had given her, and thinking over all the ways he had failed. He did not permit himself to think of the future. For Urianger, there _was_ no future. They would find a way to save her, and then, that would be it. He would leave their company on a tide of her hatred, and close the book on the tale of his own life, to wither and die in solitude.

Every night, he would open the door from his rooms in the Pendants, and return to hers. Thancred would be waiting at the door, and every night, he would attempt to stop Urianger from entering. He always failed, of course, but would sit quietly at the table drinking while Urianger would return to his vigil, her hand clasped in his, his thoughts following the same circuitous paths, without peace, without sleep, without dreams.

He returned to Il Mheg for a time, searching the books of his humble home, and those brought to him by the pixies, for some answer. While he searched, Feo Ul appeared, sitting on the edge of his desk.

Urianger said nothing, continuing his reading, while she looked down at her hands, glumly. Finally, she spoke. “I could give up my crown for her.” Urianger raised his eyes from the page and looked at the pixie, but her back was to him, and he could not get a good look at her face. “We could bring her back here, to the castle. It would be like a fairy tale - Titania, and the mortal wizard who loves her. You could _bind_ yourself to her, and be reborn, again and again, while she waited for you, eternal and unbroken, in this paradise of dreaming.”

To his ears, it did sound like a dream. An eternity of fairy tales and magic, forgetting everything outside this valley, just the two of them, together, with all the fae of Norvrandt adoring her as much as he. But…

“I hath had my fill of making decisions for her. Thou mayest offer it to her, an she awakens, and if she accepts I will gladly go with her into that dreamy eternity. But she must choose it, not I.”

“She won’t accept it,” Feo Ul kicked the side of the desk.

“I know,” Urianger said, his voice heavy. “But ‘tis a pleasant dream.”

* * *

As Urianger entered the gates of the Crystarium, Y’shtola ran toward him, nearly bowling him over in her haste.

“My lady?” he asked, catching her and setting her on her feet again.

“It’s _her_ ,” The Miqo’te panted, clinging to his robe for a moment. “She’s gone.”

Urianger was going to be sick. Visions of what she had become, what monstrous Lightwarden had arisen from the heart of his beloved, his _minette_ , the brilliant star at the heart of all his dreaming… 

Some of where his thoughts were quickly spiralling must have shown on his face. “Not like that, not yet,” Y’shtola said. “She’s awake, but not in her rooms. A number of people have seen her, but we haven’t found her yet.”

Urianger thought for a long moment, then looked at Y’shtola, and nodded. “I know where she will go.”

They gathered the others, and headed to where Urianger knew she would eventually wander - the Amaro Launch, to proceed to the Tempest. Sure enough, he spied her familiar form as they approached, and broke into a run. _Even an she dismiss me from her life,_ he thought, _I must needs look into her eyes and see her there, one last time._

He slowed to a stop a distance away from her, and slowed to a walk. Though he was eager to scoop her into his arms, he had much and more to answer for.

“Aah, we have found thee,” Urianger said, and she turned to face him, her face wan and thin. “Word reached us of thy recovery, and thus did we gather with all haste.” She continued to stare at him, her expression schooled into an unreadable mask - which he knew, now, meant that she knew something, but had not decided how to react to it yet. “Ah. By thy looks, I gather thou hast gleaned that which I came to tell thee.” She turned to face him fully, and nodded, but still did not speak. He wondered idly if her trial had stilled her tongue for good, but it was only a passing thought. In truth, he did not care. So long as she yet walked this star as herself, _anything_ else could be borne.

“Urianger has shared everything with us,” Alphinaud said. “The Exarch’s true identity and purpose.” She didn’t even acknowledge the boy had spoken, her eyes continuing to bore into his own. 

_I would be extremely disappointed if you didn’t try to fight for me,_ she had said. He remembered the way she had looked, then, in the pale light of the First’s long-unseen moon. He remembered his resolve. He remembered how he had replied. _I will fight for thee, until the day thou asketh me to stop, I will ever endeavor to have thee beside me._

Urianger stepped forward and knelt before her, looking at the ground, no longer strong enough to look her in the eyes, with everything that had passed between them. “I offer no excuses,” he began, his voice rough with the strain. “When I agreed to aid the Exarch with his plans, ‘twas in full acceptance of the condemnation I would face when my duplicity was laid bare.” He smiled softly, and touched the piece of aetheryte that still hung beneath his robes. “Yet it is not rancor, but resolve that I sense in thee. Thou art fully intent upon walking thy path to its end, art thou not?” His hand closed around the stone, and he took a shaking breath.

“If thou canst forgive my deception - or, failing that, set aside thy displeasure for a time - I do beg leave to follow thee. What strength and wisdom I possess are thine to command.” At that, his resolve broke. “I know that thou canst not love me, any longer. I have lied to thee and in so doing prevented thee from knowing the full breadth of the situation, prevented thee from acting according to thy nature -”

“Urianger,” she said.

“ - and that is a sin most unforgivable in a friend, much less a husband. I understand that thou wilt no longer welcome me into thy heart or bed, and I accept -”

“ _Urianger._ ” Her voice was a bit more forceful, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“I accept that our engagement is at an end. I accept that thou wilt not give thyself to me again, and that is naught but my deserving. Thou needs not return the ring to me. ‘Twas given to me to pass on to the woman to whom I wouldst give my heart, and regardless of thy ire, that is thee -”

“ _URIANGER!_ ” She reached for him, her cool, calloused fingers touching his shoulder again. He looked up into her eyes, and for a moment, he was back in his bedroom in Il Mheg, that first night, when she had found him having a night terror. He found no anger, no condemnation there, and he swallowed the rest of his emotional ramblings. “I forgive you, Urianger,” she said. “But I won’t forgive you if you leave me _now_ , when I need you most.” 

He stared at her in confusion, his mouth slightly open in shock, but then the reality of it all crashed into him when her lips found his. _It is not yet the end,_ he realized, and his arms went about her, to keep her close as he stood, to continue kissing her, and he could have wept with delight. _Oh, Twelve, oh, Hydaelyn - her heart is still mine, despite everything._

When Urianger needed to breathe again, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Thank you, my dearest, my beloved, my _minette_. I was so sure that I had lost thee. If there is anything thou wish, that I can do, to show the sincerity of my contrition, dear one…” He bit his lip. He was about to start rambling again.

The Champion grinned impishly. Behind him, Urianger could hear Y’shtola laughing, and Thancred said, “Twelve, give me _strength_.”

He ignored them, and kissed her forehead. “I thank thee, still. Doubt not that I will do all in my power to repay thy kindness, and fulfill the Exarch’s wishes.”

Ryne frowned. “I’m sorry but… I don’t think this is a good idea.” Urianger turned to look at the girl, his beloved still within his grasp. “Leaving the Crystarium, I mean - with or without Urianger.” She looked up at Urianger, then back to the Champion. “What I did for you won’t last forever. There’s no telling when the Light will break free again. Please,” the girl stepped forward. “You must stay here, at least for a little while longer! We will find a way to cure this, I promise you.”

“How can you make promises!?” Alisaie snapped. Her back was to the group of them, and Urianger winced internally at how much he and his fiancee’s declarations of love must have hurt her. “We don’t even know where to start!”

Alphinaud interceded on the girl’s behalf. “Alisaie, please. You know Ryne was only trying to help.”

“Of course I know!” She shouted at her brother. “I know only too well! But making promises you have no way of keeping is not a kindness - It’s a lie, plain and simple!” Her pale hair covering her face, Alisaie’s voice began to crack with the weight of her tears. “We’ve all searched high and low for an answer! And every one of us came back empty-handed!” She looked up at the Champion, her eyes brimming with tears. “I am not about to stand in her way _now_ \- not after failing her in her hour of need! No, the _least_ we can do is…”

Alphinaud placed a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder, and nodded to the Champion. “We will go with you as well. There is naught to be gained by standing still.”

Y’shtola stepped forward, and gave Urianger a warm smile, before placing her hand on the Champion’s shoulder. “Indeed, we have exhausted every other avenue. Lead and we shall follow, sister.” She kissed her cheek affectionately. “If there _is_ any hope to be found, then we will surely find it at your side.”

Thancred stared at Y’shtola a moment, then nodded. He looked down at Ryne. “Are we _all_ in agreement, then?”

The child said nothing, but nodded. 

“Is there aught we can do to help?” a man’s voice said from nearby. Urianger and the Champion, still holding each other, turned towards it. A collection of the Crystarium’s citizens were there, looking anxious.

One of them, Katliss, of the Crystalline Mean, stepped forward. “Though we may not know the whole story, we do know you’re in for a fight.” She lifted a hand to her face and smiled. “And while the Exarch’s away, it falls to the rest of us to see the Warrior of Darkness is given a proper send-off!”

Alphinaud stepped back in shock. “You told them!?”

“No!” Lyna laughed, “Well… not in so many words.” 

Urianger began to chuckle, and buried his face in his lover’s hair as the citizens of the Crystarium explained that they had quite easily figured it out, as she had not even attempted to keep her movements secret, and those movements were perfectly timed with the reappearance of the night sky. Further, the way the Exarch had acted around her - eager for her arrival, accomodating to her every need - they had, at first, thought she was his lover, but upon seeing her with the Urianger, they had begun to realize she might be something _more_.

“We do not fully understand where you or the Exarch hail from,” Moren said, “ _or_ why you’ve all done so much to protect us - but we are deeply grateful nonetheless.” He smiled. “So if there is anything at all we might do to aid your journey, you need only name it. What would you have of us?”

Y’shtola tugged the Champion out of Urianger’s arms, and leaned her head on her shoulder. “You might have invited them to join us, were there not so many,” She said, smirking. “But come, they are waiting. What is your will, O Warrior of Darkness?”

His lover pulled away from the Miqo’te and reached for him again, all smiles, as she fixed her gaze on Moren. “Defend the Crystarium until we return.”

The locals rushed off to secure the defenses, and Urianger stood, staring down at her, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Thou didst plan to commandeer an _amaro_ for thy journey to the open sea?” He laughed. “I fear the following dive down unto Emet-Selch’s underwater abode would drain even thy legendary stamina.” At the mention of the Ascian’s name, he felt her tense in his arms, and he pulled her closer. She buried her face in his chest. “He shall not have thee. Not whilst I still draw breath. Not now that I know thou art truly _mine_ , for now and ever after.” He kissed her forehead. “During thy convalescence, we considered the most efficacious method for reaching the depths of the Tempest. And I believe we have arrived at an elegant solution.”

* * *

As they settled on the grass coating Bismarck’s back, Urianger began explaining the pixie legends regarding the great creature. While his beloved and the girl, Ryne, listened intently to his words, everyone else seemed bored, so he shook his head and got to his point. “I would enlist its aid to bear us unto the deep, and thence banish the water with an airy sphere, alike in form to the domes which do shelter the hamlets ‘neath the Ruby Sea.”

The Champion smiled widely. “You’ve been?”

“No, pray, forgive me,” Urianger shook his head. “I hath merely read depictions of them. Hast thou?”

She nodded. “Yes, They’re quite beautiful, but the people don’t exactly welcome outsiders.” Her laughter warmed his heart almost as much as her hand in his. He could weep over it, if he’d allowed himself. He still wasn’t sure it was real.

“I must needs ask for silence whilst I make my supplication,” Urianger said, bringing her hand to his lips. She nodded, and pulled away, going to stand with their friends.

Urianger moved forward, into the tuft of tall grasses on the small plateau above Bismarck’s head. He knelt, and channelled his aether to give his voice additional weight, and spoke the tongue of the Fae. “[O great and serene Bismarck.]”

The very ground beneath their feet shook as the great fae awoke, and responded. “[Long has it been since my name was called. Why do you wake me, little neighbor?]”

“[To the bottom of the western sea we go. Pray, lend us your back and your breath.]” Urianger began mentally preparing what he would offer the creature for its services, only to be surprised by its answer.

“[This world is in twilight. I wait for the sun to set. I wish only to sleep.]” In his experience, the fae never said _no_. They usually tried to bargain, and set their asking price too high if they did not wish to do the task. He racked his brain trying to come up with what to do next. They _needed_ Bismarck’s help. The whole _plan_ hinged on it.

He felt the grasses rustle beside him, and looked up to see his beloved, looking up at the light-cursed sky.

“My Lady?” he said, curiously. 

She grinned and lifted a hand to her lips, shouting to the heavens, “Feo Ul!”

He felt aether stir around them, and the pixie sailed down to her, swirling around them both before floating before the Champion. “My [adorable sapling]! You’ve learned to call me at last!” Feo Ul planted kisses on both of her cheeks. “And where do you go? A trip? A journey? Oh, I _knew_ you wouldn’t give up without a fight.” The fae practically vibrated with excitement. “Oh, my precious mortal. I shall help you in any way I can!”

Feo Ul turned her attention to Urianger, and smiled at him, nodding in approval of his fingers, which sought out and twisted amongst the Champion’s own. She turned her back to them, and looked down towards the sleeping giant beneath their feet. “[Sleepy Bismarck, you old pixie! These are my precious, precious saplings!]” She swirled around Urianger and his beloved, and he was both surprised and gratified to be included. “[Let their wish be the king’s command.]”

The ground beneath them trembled, and Urianger pulled his lover - _My future bride,_ he corrected his internal monologue - closer as the great creature spoke. 

“[What a rare thing to awaken to. My beautiful king. If it be thy wish, then so shall it be done.]” 

Bismarck’s acquiescence made Feo Ul smile widely, and she turned to Urianger. “Be sure to scrub this one’s teeth for him upon your return. It’s only good manners.”

He gave the pixie a courtly bow. “It will be done, Your Majesty. Our deepest thanks for your timely intervention.”

Feo Ul rose into the air, addressing their collected company. “An agreement is reached, and your departure is at hand. You wingless ones best hold on tight!” She giggled. “May the blessings of the Fae keep you safe, [shining souls]!”

Bismarck let out a deep cry that echoed through the air. “[To the western sea we go. Wrapped in my breath, I will see you to your destination, little neighbors.]” And the ancient fae began to rise from the waters into the painfully bright sky.

* * *

“[I have fulfilled my duty. I return now to the lake.]” Bismarck’s voice rumbled as they tumbled down from his height and onto the now-dry sea floor. “[I have not flown in an age. It was… pleasant. May your journey be a safe one, little neighbors.]” 

“Wow…” Ryne whispered, staring at the alien landscape.

The Champion clambered to her feet, and reached out a hand. Urianger took it and she levered him off the ground. He still felt a bit hysterical. So much had happened in the last few hours: he had found her awake; he had confessed his deception; she had not only forgiven him, but demanded to continue their relationship; he had attempted to bargain with an ancient fae; they had summoned Titania herself to force the issue; and he had gone, hand-in-hand with his fiancee, into the depths of a storm-tossed sea, not even knowing how to swim. He brought a hand to his face and groaned. “I merely wanted to be a quiet academic…”

Y’shtola laughed at him. “It’s much too late for you to turn back, I’m afraid. My heart-sister has decided to keep you.”

“Full glad am I… that Bismarck was true to his word,” he said. Urianger looked down at his fiancee. “We are arrived in the Tempest, my lady, safe and dry. ‘Tis here that we shall find the lair of thy _vir_ -” _Strange,_ he thought, _his relationship to her troubleth me not, now that I know her heart is mine in full._ “- and, I believe, the imprisoned Exarch as well.” She stepped close to him, and he put his arms around her. “For an Ascian alone, it is of course a trifling matter to flee unto the rift - yet I suspect such travel is nigh impossible with a mortal in one’s custody.” He stroked her hair, taking stock of their surroundings. “Nay, he would not soon risk his prize when the Exarch’s very body serveth as the key to the Crystal Tower and its powers of temporal transportation. Thus am I all but certain that this underwater realm harboreth our friend and enemy both. We have but to find them.”

Though he was full of vaunted words, Urianger was of little help for the tasks at hand. They made contact with the Sahagin of the First, here called the _’Ondo’_ , and his compatriots did much ease their troubles while searching for clues. Y’shtola determined the ruins the Ondo lived amongst were more ancient than the land itself, and upon further discussion, determined they must have come from the world of the Ascians - before Zodiark and Hydaelyn sundered creation.

The Ondo seemed to be in some sort of religious fervor, as a light had been seen in the darkness, and their religion demanded they provide an answer. So his beloved did what she did best, and he was gratified to watch her work. He did not normally go out on these exploratory excursions; his usual method was to stay behind until the last moment, then go and perform his working, and leave. _This is what thy life will be with her. Thou shouldst learn some skills outside thine expertise, else thou wilt be very bored._ So Urianger offered his assistance to the Ondo, doing menial labor to improve their opinions of he and his company.

A murmur seemed to pass amongst the Ondo, and he looked up to see the Champion returning, carrying a strange device. In the light of the Ondo’s Aetheryte, he saw the star he had given her, still pinned into her hair, and laughed. “I have ever been a fool…”

Thancred stood next to him. “You and me both, I am afraid. Are you ready?”

“Are any of us?” Urianger replied.

“No,” Thancred laughed. “But we do it anyway.”

They followed one of the Ondo Shaman, one Tolshs Aath, out into the ruins to the west. There, he illuminated the strange lantern the Champion had brought, and the assembled Ondo bowed their heads.

“O Stewards of the Ondo… We offer up our light in answer…” Tolshs Aath proclaimed. Urianger caught the familiar scent of sandalwood and looked down to see his dearest had come close to him. He put his hands on her shoulders, and leaned down, planting a silent kiss on her cheek.

“Apologies - we were a little late to the gathering,” Alphinaud said behind them. 

Y’shtola smiled. “It seems we’ve succeeded in gaining their trust.”

“The delay wasn’t exactly _welcome_ ,” Thancred said, crossing his arms. “But at least our many hands made light work.” He grinned at the woman Urianger held. “And they seemed especially impressed with your contribution. Our hero, indeed.”

“Y’shtola was telling us those structures may date back to the age of the Ascians,” Alphinaud commented, looking at the architecture.

“An Ascian homeland…” Alisaie said, her voice low. “Despite his many protestations, I never quite believed Emet-Selch - “ Urianger felt the Champion flinch at the mention of him. “ - as telling the truth.”

“Nor I,” Alphinaud agreed. “But there is no denying the evidence before our eyes. Clearly, this was once a great city. A home they would see restored, no matter how many tens of thousands of years it takes.”

The woman in Urianger’s grasp looked down at her hands, and said nothing.

“It’s a hollow dream, when you think about it. Even if they manage to rejoin all the worlds, they’ll never bring back the ones who were lost,” Alisaie whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, Urianger saw her glance at both he and the Champion, then look away. “But would I have done any different…?”

Ryne approached, anxiously, and took Urianger’s beloved’s hand. “Are you…? How are you feeling?”

The Champion sighed, but before she could say anything, approaching footsteps called their attention.

“You have completed your devotions?” Y’shtola inquired of the approaching Ondo, lead by Tolshs Aath.

“Yesss... “ he replied. “To the honored ancientsss have we offered up our prayers and our gratitude. You, too, have our thanks.”

“Might we trouble thee, then,” Urianger said, “to tell us more of the illuminated land of which thou didst lately speak?”

Tolshs Aath nodded. “To the west of here lies a great trench.” He looked in that direction, and his eyes gained a far away look. “Some days ago, a light appeared in that endlesss darknesss. Curiousss, we ventured closer… and discovered in the depths an entire city.” He flexed his hands, and returned his gaze to Urianger. “The buildings we spied were akin to our own everlasting abodes. Impossibly so. We understood at once - the ancients had risen. There could be no doubt.” Tolshs shook his head. “Taken with terror, we retreated to the Cupsss, and I decreed that none should enter the trench until such time as we received a sssign.”

Alphinaud scratched his chin, and Urianger was surprised to notice the beginnings of downy white stubble on the boy’s face. “Might it be possible to reach this city of the ancients?”

Tolshs tilted his head in thought. “With no water to drown you, a finless one could travel there, yesss.” He nodded to the Champion. “I am convinced you are the sssign for which we have been waiting. My people will show you the way.”

They all turned to look at her as the Ondo departed. “Shall we?” Alphinaud asked.

* * *

True to their word, the Ondo guided them deep into the lower reaches of their home, and out to a series of small coral clusters that formed bridges between more proper platforms of land.

As they moved, a heavy weight seemed to settle over Urianger, and he understood it to be the gravity of the quest before them. They would either succeed, or fail. Their first priority was to save the Exarch, but he feared that could not happen without defeating the Ascian, and defeating Emet-Selch had its own troubles. 

For all that it did not matter to their relationship, it did matter to her survival if they slew the Ascian. Would he be reborn as a mortal man? Would he be reborn in his current form? What of the Champion? Would she die as well? Was Urianger still going to lose her to the more practical aspects of the _binding_? Could they find a way to sever her connection to Emet-Selch? Questions swirled in his mind, but she continued on, seemingly undisturbed, so all he could do was follow her lead, and pray that they somehow found a way through the trial ahead.

They fought their way past the Ondo Barrier, and further into the chasm, until at last they came around the bend in a cave, and all seven of them gasped at the sight before them.

“By the gods…” Alisaie whispered.

An alien city of strange stone and serene lights spread out before them, twisting spires interspersed amongst the buildings. Urianger took his fiancee’s hand, and the two of them stared out at the metropolis in wonder. 

“When the Ondo spoke of a city, I did not think they meant an _actual_ city!” Alphinaud said in shock.

“Then…” Y’shtola said, her voice weak. “We are seeing the same view…” They turned to look at her. “The remnants in the Ondo settlement were solid, material structures but these…” She swallowed anxiously. “Everything here pulses with aether. ‘Tis an enchantment on a monumental scale!” The Miqo’te turned her gaze to the Champion. “And the Ascian has done all this… for you.”

Ryne raised a hand to her lips as they all looked back at the city. “What _is_ this place?”

The same word echoed past both Urianger and his future bride’s lips. The same name, pulled from them unbidden, an answer to the girl’s question.

“Amaurot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I hope you liked it! Get ready for the beginning of the end. The Amaurot section is going to be long, I fear, but I hope you all won't mind too much! ;)
> 
> I'll get the next chapter out asap!


	25. Amaurot, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they begin to explore this ancient city, Urianger meets an unexpected ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter to transition to a longer one. I wanted to get this out before work tomorrow so I can focus on this upcoming tale-within-a-tale. Hope you can forgive me.

As they tried to move forward through the city, the way was barred to all of them, save the Champion. At her touch, her voice, her name, the doors would open, and so all of them followed in her wake, hesitant steps taking them further into the strange city beneath the sea. 

Urianger recalled what the Ascian had called her - _”The Glittering Jewel of Amaurot”_ \- and he wondered what her connection to this strange place _was_. For her part, his beloved seemed haggard, as if the weight on her shoulders grew too great. He put an arm around her, and she smiled weakly at him.

“I am here, _minette_ ,” he whispered, tucking her hair back from her face. “We will find our way through this, as anything else.”

“Stay with me,” she whispered back, just loud enough for him to hear. “Stay with me until the end.” Her shoulders shook, for only a moment, before she martialed strength from whatever secret reserve waited within, and stilled her sobs. “I don’t want to die alone.”

“Thou wilt not. So long as I still draw breath when that unhappy hour is upon thee, thou wilt not.”

They entered a large plaza, surrounded on all sides by large buildings, save one end which had a grand staircase, leading deeper into the city. Alisaie sighed. “It’s only at this distance that you start to realize just how big the buildings truly are. What did you call the city? ‘Amaurot’?”

“Look!” Thancred cried, and all eyes turned to him. “Over there!” Following Thancred’s gaze, they saw a tall figure, shrouded in a robe, with their back to them. “Is that… a person?” he asked, then chuckled. “Ah, no, my mistake. That’s a giant. It doesn’t seem to have noticed us yet…”

“Giant or no,” Alphinaud said, “a resident of this place may have much and more to tell us. I say we make the first move.” He began to walk toward the ‘giant.’

“Alphinaud,” Alisaie called. “You can’t just - ugh!” She went after her brother, scowling, and the rest of them soon followed.

“Pray excuse my boldness,” Alphinaud said, looking up at the robed figure, “but might I ask you a few questions…?”

He turned, and beneath his generous cowl they had a nondescript mask, which hid the top half of his face. He opened his mouth, and the sound that came out was a strange, harmonic tone - but they understood it all the same. “Oh, what adorable costumes,” they said. “Are you children on an excursion? This district has much to teach you.”

“How odd... “ Ryne murmured. “That sounded like no language I’ve ever heard, and yet I understood every word…”

“Just as he understood us…” Y’shtola said.

“Ahem,” Alphinaud coughed, and returned his attention to the figure. “And which district is this?”

“You must be lost, poor things,” he replied. The figure’s movements were graceful, and Urianger could not shake the feeling of distant benevolence he seemed to exude. “You stand in the Polyleritae District, wherein lie the institutions most vital to the management of our star.”

The companions all turned toward each other, and shrugged. The Champion stepped forward, and looked up at the figure. “Can you tell us who rules this city?”

“Who rules?” He seemed perplexed by the question. “What a curious question. Mayhap you refer to our supervising body, the Convocation of Fourteen?”

Alisaie pursed her lips. “So Emet-Selch _isn’t_ the leader here…”

The figure became animated, and Urianger realized he was smiling in excitement. “Emet-Selch is a member of the Convocation. Were you hoping to witness its deeds firsthand?” He gave a small chuckle. “Hm hm hm… hardly surprising, I suppose. The whole world holds its breath as the Final Days draw near, and our brightest minds race to implement their plans.” The looming figure knelt to get a closer look. “Thus you must understand that gaining an audience at this time will be next to impossible.” He smiled at them all congenially. “You should hurry home now, before your families begin to worry. Do you need me to walk you back?”

“N-No thank you,” Alphinaud replied, a little startled. “We will be fine.”

The figure stood again. “Very well. Take care, little ones…” He turned and walked away, fading out of existence as he did.

“What was that all about…?” Alisaie asked.

“To my eyes,” Y’shtola said, “these people appear as arcane entities. I suspect Emet-Selch wove them from aether, much as he reconstructed the rest of the city…”

Urianger ran a hand through his hair. “The Final Days…” He looked down at his beloved. “Such words well befit the oblivion described to us by our Ascian foe.” She flinched, almost imperceptibly, but he reached out and touched her cheek all the same. “A catastrophe of unprecedented scale, which did set in motion the summoning of Zodiark… and thence Hydaelyn Herself.”

“But…” Ryne furrowed her brow. “That happened centuries and centuries ago, didn’t it?” She bit her lip. “That man spoke as if they were rushing to avert a disaster here and now.”

“Unless,” Alphinaud said, “For these people, the distant past _is_ the here and now!”

Urianger nodded. “I believe thou hast the right of it, Master Alphinaud. This aetherial Amaurot and its residents appear to be phantoms of a different age.” He pulled the Champion close. “Emet-Selch hath resurrected a memory - a moment in time from before the star was sundered.”

“So,” Thancred said, shaking his head. “We find ourselves in a long-destroyed city inhabited by the long-departed. An unusual situation, to be sure - but at least we’re able to parley with these ancients.” He chuckled. “In fact, they seem downright _eager_ to chat. I say we use this to our advantage - split up, strike up some conversations, and see if we can’t learn the location of our quarry.” He scratched his chin. “And while we’re at it, it wouldn’t hurt to wheedle out a few more details regarding this Convocation of Fourteen and their impending disaster.” The Champion nodded her agreement.

“To mingling, then,” Thancred said. “Let’s meet back here when our jaws start aching.”

“Dost thou wish to proceed together?” Urianger asked, pressing a kiss onto his lover’s brow.

She shook her head. “Something feels…” 

“...familiar,” He finished for her, and she nodded sheepishly. “If thou wisheth to seek thy own answers, I will not stand in thy way, dear heart.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Be careful. Remember I love thee.”

She reached up and touched his face, gently. “I love you, too.”

* * *

Urianger wandered through the city, chatting with the various shades they encountered. They seemed to perceive him as a young, precocious child, and it was easier to not disabuse them of that notion. Thus, their underestimation of him allowed Urianger to see more than they realized they were letting on - and the robed giant quietly stalking him through the streets.

He saw them first before the great steps, peering at him from behind a tree. Later, they watched him from an open doorway of a building. When he finished a conversation, he turned to find them tucking themselves back behind a building as if to avoid his gaze, and Urianger shook his head. _The only of them to show an interest in us without our first approaching,_ he thought. _Best to see what he would tell me._

Urianger headed down an alleyway, and waited behind a building. When a quarter of an hour had passed, he turned, believing himself mistaken, only to find the stalking figure looming over him. 

“Greetings,” he began, affably, “I noticed thou wert following me, and I had hoped -”

“Y-you…” the figure said. Their skin was ashen, where it could be seen beneath the mask.

“Yes?” Urianger replied.

“So my suspicions are correct,” the figure placed a hand on his chin. “This is an ephemeral world, and I am merely a shade of my former self, an echo for someone’s amusement.” His chiming voice seemed strangely familiar to Urianger. “Probably Hades, I’d wager.”

“Forgive me, but I understandeth not thy meaning. Who is Hades?”

“Emet-Selch? Does that ring a bell?” The figure asked.

Urianger took a step back, and some of his dislike of the Ascian must have shown on his face, for the figure laughed. “I see he has not changed, then, to raise such ire in us. Tell me what he has done _this_ time.”

“I prefer to keep my counsel,” Urianger replied. “Considering I knoweth not thy name.”

“Our name,” the figure corrected.

“Our - what?” Urianger asked.

“As I said,” the figure reached up, and pulled away the mask, revealing his face. The face was not Urianger’s own, but it seemed familiar enough to be. And the man’s eyes were the same pale gold as his own, the same piercing gaze. “ _Our_ name.”

Urianger swallowed nervously. “I am Urianger, and I wouldst greatly appreciate an explanation.”

The figure smiled, softly. “My name is Raphael, but here in Amaurot, we all answer to titles. Ours was Hythlodaeus.”

“Ours?” He asked, dubiously. 

“Given what I know so far - this is an echo of Amaurot, I am a shade created by _someone_ either Emet-Selch or his _uxor_ -” Urianger flinched at the word. “Aah. Are you acquainted with her as well?”

He clenched his jaw. “I have asked for her hand, and she hath accepted.”

This Raphael, this… _Hythlodaeus_ , took a step back, but he smiled widely. “Then I win, in the end. Curiouser and curiouser.” He tilted his head back. “All things appear incredible to us, as they differ more or less from our own manners.”

Urianger raised a hand. “I feel as though we art having two very different conversations. Thou art skipping between topics like thou hast the mayfly mind of a child.”

“Or like you can’t keep up,” He grinned mischievously, “But you have a point. I am speaking in riddles. Something we’re prone to, I fear. So I will begin at the beginning.” The figure with Urianger’s eyes bowed formally. “My name is Raphael, though in this place I am called Hythlodaeus. I am you, and you are me, well, at least, more than half of me. I am your soul, whole and complete, from before the sundering of our star.”

Dozens of questions sprang to Urianger’s mind, but he bit his tongue. He needed to get as much information as possible from this madman who claimed to be him, so he decided to start with a question he was like to answer. “Thou hast said ‘Then I win, in the end.’ What didst thou mean?”

“It is a long tale, are you sure?” Raphael smiled.

“If it will help me save her from Emet-Selch and the corruption of her aether, then yes, I am.”

His companion smiled triumphantly. “Then let me help you remember a story, Urianger - the story of Hythlodaeus, Emet-Selch, and their love for the Glittering Jewel of Amaurot.”

Raphael reached out and touched Urianger’s forehead, and everything went black.


	26. Hythlodaeus, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hythlodaeus remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real, guys, if you have not read _Utopia_ , I highly recommend it.

I am Raphael, called Hythlodaeus. 

I have been accepted into the Schola Sapientia with my good friend, Hades, called Emet-Selch.

He is being groomed for taking a position amongst the Convocation so that his honored grandfather may retire - and honor upon honor, he has selected me to be trained as his close friend and advisor, to aid him in his service to that illustrious body.

Hades will study politics, the arcane arts, the arts of combat. I will study ethics, philosophy, and history. I will merely make him consider his actions - he will choose which actions to take. Thus will I serve the people of Amaurot, as we all must. 

There are many other pairs here - those groomed for high office, and someone to serve as their conscience.

“Power requires ruthlessness,” our instructors say, “and so you must have a counterpoint to temper you.”

We nod. It is a lesson we have heard since childhood.

I remember our childhood. The day he met me, when two other students had hit me so hard my mask came off, shaming me before the others. Hades ran them down with a switch he had snatched from a tree, chasing them off. Then he came to me, to help me up. He saw my face, and smiled, handing me my mask.

“We have the same eyes,” he said, and removed his mask. I saw that he was right, and that he did me great honor by sharing his face with me. When we returned to our instructors, masks in place, we were friends.

So it has ever been.

Hades has always been temperamental, prone to the depression and mania of genius. I accept this. I am the counterpoint that will temper him. When he is depressed, I speak to his strength and courage, to lift him up. When he is manic, I speak of caution and consequences, to make him circumspect.

No one lays a hand on me in anger again.

* * *

We have been attending classes at the Schola for two months when a meeting is called.

The pairs gather in the courtyard, and one of our instructors informs us that a new student shall join our number. His use of the singular causes whispers to pass through the assemblage. Hades and I do not whisper, but his hand finds mine in the folds of our robes.

Indeed, when she is brought before us, she is alone. Another student, called Elidibus, asks where her advisor is. 

“I do not have one,” she says. Her voice is courage. Her voice is steel. My heart hammers in my chest.

I do not realize that Hades’s clutch on my hand has tightened as much as mine has upon his. He raises his voice. “You may study with my advisor and I, until you have one of your own.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. His face is a mask, but I know his heart. She is a puzzle to him - a prize. Something he does not yet understand - but intends to before he lets her go. 

Hades is possessive. He will not let her go.

Our instructor looks to me, and I nod my acquiescence. 

We are given the rest of the day off to get to know her, so that we might work well together.

“I have not seen you in the streets of Amaurot,” Hades says. It is not a question.

She says nothing.

“I am called Emet-Selch,” he tries again. “And this is my advisor, called Hythlodaeus.” 

She bows, and a single lock of hair falls past her shoulder, out of her cowl. I want to touch it, that silken tress, exposed unexpectedly. She stands abruptly and turns, tucking it away.

Hades is impulsive. He removes his mask, so that when she turns back, she might see his face. He squeezes my hand, a signal.

I remove my own. 

When she turns back and sees us, she is very still. She sees what he is doing. He is answering her embarrassment with intimacy, making us vulnerable as just payment for her own vulnerability.

“I am Hades.” He says, indicating it is his private name, his _true_ name.

She turns to me, expectantly, and something in her expression changes. I am too young to know what it is.

“I am Raphael.”

She smiles - the first smile, breathtaking in its beauty and innocence. When she tells us her name, we know our fates are sealed. We know she will not seek her own advisor. We know that our two have become three.

Hades lets go of my hand.

* * *

Hades is ill. She and I have stayed home to tend him while the fever rages. I call it fever, but I know it is rage. 

Elidibus spoke ill of her in an essay on moral rectitude.

After he has retreated into melancholy, I make him tea.

“I will go to the Schola and pick up our missed school work,” I say. We cannot afford to fall behind.

“No,” Hades says. “It is dangerous.”

He is not wrong. Advisors are often targeted by rivals, as we are not trained in the combative arts. It is easier to terrorize us. I remember him chasing bullies with a switch.

“I will accompany you,” she says. 

Hades scowls. She has been the top of their training classes, and is a better warrior than he. Hades does not like being second to anyone.

The silence stretches uncomfortably. 

“Very well,” he says, and turns his back to us.

We leave, we walk through the streets, we arrive at the Schola, all in silence.

We procure our reading lists, and essay topics. We go to the library, to secure copies of the texts we need.

In the silence of the stacks, she touches my shoulder. I turn - she has removed her mask.

I remove mine, and watch her curiously.

The silver of her aether dances around us, shielding us from view. 

Our first kiss. So delicious, and so unexpected. When Hades kisses me, it is an oppressive weight, chaining me to my position as his advisor. Her kiss is light, it is the air, and upon her lips is the promise of flight and freedom and joy.

We do not tell Hades.

* * *

She tells him the two of them must study in separate rooms. “You are too loud,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Raphael can alternate days with who he helps. Surely, you do not require him every day, Hades.” She is goading him, questioning his ability subtly, to force his compliance.

He fumes, but agrees. He likes to stare at her, and he will not be able to if she is in another chamber. He does not see me as a threat to his obsession. 

Our stolen hours are sweet - kisses and cuddling, the early forays into romance common to the young. I do not have the courage to claim her, yet. 

Hades would never allow it.

* * *

I learn of philosophy, and respect. I learn of love, and duty. Most of all, I learn of tragedy.

That is my purpose, in truth - to prevent tragedy. To prevent it, I must understand it.

When I see the way Hades clutches at her hand, I fear that one day I will.

* * *

“I will make her my _uxor_ ,” he tells me, without preamble, while I am helping him with mathematics.

I drop my pen.

“I will make her my _uxor_ ,” he repeats. “I will have her love, her heart, her body, her soul. And you will help me.”

I do not want this for her. Hades’s love is a jealous love. A cruel, all-encompassing love. I do not want her to feel the chains of obligation he would cast over her. She is freedom, she is air.

It is my duty to help them both see to their goals, but now I do not want to. I do not want to share her, any of her.

I understand shame.

* * *

“Dance with me,” she says.

We are at a gala, held by the Convocation, so that they might see those up and coming students in an unofficial capacity. She has had a lot of champagne. I can see the color in her cheeks.

I lift my hand to take hers, but Hades places his own over it, pressing it down to the table.

“He does not want to,” Hades replies. “I will dance with you.”

“I did not ask you,” she says. Her voice is courage. Her voice is steel. She grabs my arm, and pulls me away. I look back at Hades, but he will not look at me.

We dance, she and I, and I forget the world. I forget duty and obligation and Hades and Amaurot. There is only _her_.

When the song ends, she does not leave my arms. Still in that dreamlike state, I kiss her, publicly. 

When I pull away, she is pleased, and I am pleased to have pleased her.

Hades is gone.

* * *

Hades’s fists pound into my stomach, over and over again. I have long since vomited up my dinner, and it stains the front of his formal shirt, but he does not care.

“She is _mine_ ,” he repeats, drawing in ragged breaths. “You are not to touch her again. You are just an _advisor_.”

I understand. I am not a person to Hades. I am a tool. Tools do what you ask of them, and only what you ask of them. If I am not a tool, I am a threat. He does not deal well with threats.

I say nothing, letting him wear himself out. When he finally stops, he asks a single question.

“Why?”

I shrug, but do not look at him. “It was what she wanted.”

I see his fists clench again at his sides. “Then I will make her want something else.”

He stalks away from me, and I stand. Before he leaves the room, I say, “To pursue your own interests is prudent; to pursue the public interest as well is pious; but to pursue your own pleasure by depriving others of theirs is unjust.”

He comes back and hits me again.

* * *

Hades no longer hides his affections. In one of their spars, he grabs her, and presses his lips to hers.

“Why did you do that?” She asks.

“I love you,” he replies.

“You do not love me. You love the idea of me.” Her voice is hot with anger.

“You are mine,” Hades says. It is not a question.

“And if I am not?”

“You are. Hypotheticals don’t matter.” He turns and stalks from the chamber.

* * *

“He is going mad,” she says from within the circle of my arms. “He is too dangerous to be uncontrolled.”

“How do you propose we control him?” I ask.

She sits in silence for a time. I do not press. We have had this conversation before. Normally, she does not say anything. Today, she does.

“I will give him what he wants.”

“No,” the word is past my lips before I can stop it. It is not an advisor’s place to say no.

My defiance pleases her. She tilts her head and smiles at me. “What would you have me do?”

I do not have a real answer. Hades is powerful - monstrously so. He has no moral compass save the one I provide. He has still not forgiven me for kissing her, and thus does not completely trust me.

“That is what I thought,” she says, when the silence has become uncomfortably long. “He will not listen to you. He is obsessed with me.”

“H-he would do anything to please you,” I say, some ancient loyalty to the boy who chased off my bullies making me defend him.

“No, he would not.” She smiles. “It would please me if he let me go. It would please me if he could accept that I only want to be friends. It would please me if he could be happy for us. But that is not his nature. You know that better than I.”

My silence shames me.

“If I give him what he is after - if I become his _uxor_ \- he will tie himself in knots trying to keep me happy.” She closes her eyes. “He will forget his anger at you, and listen to your counsel again. He will be controlled.”

“You will be unhappy,” I say. That is the bigger crime, the bigger tragedy.

“I live to serve Amaurot,” she smiles up at me. “If this is how I can best serve our people, then I will do it, my happiness be damned.” She takes my hand. “That is a lie. I am doing this for you.”

“I do not need it.” 

“You do,” she shakes her head. “As long as I am not his, he will wonder at every moment we spend alone together. His jealousy will eat at him. And one day he will harm you.”

I do not tell her that he already has.

“I must do this, Raphael.” My name sounds beautiful in her voice. “For you, and Amaurot.” 

I close my eyes. I cannot watch this tragedy unfold.

Her fingers clutch my hand, and I open my eyes to see she has removed her mask. She stares at me, all the courage that I lack.

“But before I do, I want you to make love to me.”

I freeze. I am unable to think. I have long fantasized about such things, but now she is offering.

“W-why?” My hands are shaking.

“Hades is selfish and cruel. He will not _love_ me. He will _possess_ me. Before I accept that burden, I want to know what it is to be loved.” Her eyes bore into me again. “And I know that you love me.”

“I do.” I cannot hide the truth from her.

“Then love me now. Let me find such joy with my philosopher, to carry me through the eternity of sorrow that is to come.”

I give her what she asks of me.

* * *

When I wake, she is gone. There is no note, no message left for me. Just three strands of her hair, still on my pillow. 

I take them and braid them together, forming a ring of them, encasing that ring in metal, then hang it from a cord, to be worn under my robes, unseen by all but me. 

She may have left my side to give herself to Hades, but I do not have that luxury. I do not want it. I am hers, as much as anything else in this city. If she must suffer Hades possession, then I will suffer to watch. I will not increase her suffering by taking another lover, or finding my own _uxor_. 

I feign sickness, and spend the day in solitude. “Solitude is my new normal,” I tell myself. “You are bound to bear yourself as agreeably as you can towards those whom nature or chance or your own choice has made the companions of your life.”

That evening, Hades comes to me in joy. “I do not know what you said to her last night,” he laughs. “But thank you, my friend. She has _bound_ herself to me.”

I did not need to be told. I can see the chains. She will not look at me. So I look at him.

“Congratulations, Hades,” I say. “Perhaps it is time for me to move out.” I am weak. I cannot stay and watch her suffer.

“What?” Hades looks confused. “Why?”

“You are newly _bound_ ,” I say. “It would be imposing of me to take up your attention in this happy time. And it will be easier to study without the noise.”

I intend it as a joke, but she winces as if I had slapped her.


	27. Hythlodaeus, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hythlodaeus finishes his tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be back to Urianger in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed this little experimental foray.

She, Hades, and I graduate with top honors. A wave of retirements afflicts the Convocation, as those who yearned to retire and explore other lives now do so, their replacements now trained and of age.

We go out to dinner, the three of us, to celebrate. There is much wine, and much food, but I remain silent. Hades is the only one talking, the only one laughing. 

Beneath the table, her ankle is pressed against mine. These are the only touches we are permitted, now that she is _bound_. Unseen caresses in shadow. Idle, accidental touches.

Hades does not mind. He does not care. She is his _uxor_ , and so he believes his hold secure.

As we leave, she stops and turns to me. “I have forgotten to leave a tip.” She scrambles in her pockets, but Hades waves her off. He pulls a handful of gil from his pocket, and offers it to her. 

She accepts, then turns to me. “Would you mind running back in?” She lets her gaze flit to Hades. “We need to hurry home.” She plays him like a harp.

“Of course,” I say. I do not comment on the slip of paper hidden amongst the gil.

Once I am back inside, I drop the gil on our table, and read the paper.

>   
> Leave your door unlocked tonight.  
> 

I do as she asks.

* * *

All told we spend three days abed together. She lies to Hades, tells him that she is burdened by guilt over her new place as a member of the Convocation of Fourteen. She claims it is impostor syndrome, that she does not feel worthy. She claims I am reminding her of her worth. That last part is not a lie.

It becomes our routine. Once a month, she is afflicted with a need for my advice. She comes to me, and we say with our bodies all the things we yearn for, all the dreams we wish we could share.

Decades pass - Hades’s child takes root within her. We do not speak of it when we are together.

Her next two children are mine. We are lucky that my eyes are like Hades’s. We are lucky that our people go masked. He does not realize the betrayal we enact beneath his gaze. 

I begin to research ways to break the _binding_.

I am the worst advisor.

* * *

News comes to Amaurot - a distant city has been destroyed, the very powers of creation that fuel our existence turning on their masters. The Convocation comes together to learn more of this threat. 

She volunteers to go.

Hades denies her. He insists on going instead.

They argue over it for a week, until he asks me to watch over her to ensure she does not follow him.

“The children are enrolled in the Schola,” he says. “You and Raphael have always been friends. He will take care of you.”

She bristles at his words, rage building within her, but he does not see it. He sees petulant acquiescence.

* * *

She spends the next year shouting - my name, when we are abed; his name, when she wishes to rant about his nature.

She trains me to duel. Neither of us talk about why, but I know. We are nigh-eternal. It is a near certainty he will discover our secret trysts before we are dead. She wants me to have a fighting chance when that happens.

I have no plans to fight my oldest friend.

I already know that one day he will kill me.

* * *

Hades is returning, and she must return to him. The last night we are together, she gives me a gift - a sword of my own.

“Keep it close. I want you safe,” she tells me.

“I will,” I lie.

When she is gone I put it in my closet. When he will raise a sword to me, I will let him strike me down. Better death than this continued torture.

* * *

The destruction is sweeping closer to Amaurot.

They argue more now.

I wonder if it has something to do with our year together, while he investigated.

When I ask, she admits it. She tells me that I am kind, where he is cruel. I am gentle, where he is rough. I bring her pleasure, he brings her pain.

“I have suffered enough!” she cries.

On that, we can agree.

* * *

The Convocation makes two announcements.

She has left their number.

They have decided to enact a great ritual, to give will to our very star.

They make a call for sacrifices.

She comes to me, her head bowed. “I do not agree with what they do, but I will give my life for Amaurot.”

I know her, just as well as I know him. She is determined. She has decided. When she is like this, I cannot stop her.

I beg her for a few more days. Some time to try to come up with an alternate solution. The desperation in my voice convinces her to give me three days.

The first day and night, I make love to her with all the ardor I possess. I know that she will not forgive me what I am about to do.

I cannot stop her.

But Hades can.

* * *

I enter his office without bathing or changing my robes beforehand. I know that her scent lingers on my skin, on my clothes, in my hair. He will not fail to notice. That is the point.

“Raphael!” he says, smiling, and comes to hug me. He stops when he is close, and I see his eyes darken with rage.

His hands find my throat, and he bears me down to the tile floor, cutting off my breath. I know he plans to kill me. I do not fight back.

Before I am lost, he has finally understood that I would not risk my life over a trivial matter. He releases me, and draws his sword, pointing it at my throat. “Speak.” It is a command.

I do not bandy about or make excuses.

“She intends to offer herself as one of the sacrifices.”

His face pales, and he steps away from me. “You are here to save her life, against her will.”

I nod.

He sheathes his sword, and stares out at the city’s skyline, through the window of his office at the top of the Central Tower.

“Take me to her.”

* * *

She is furious with me.

I do not care.

They shriek at each other in my living room. A century of hurts laid bare. She does not tell him about our children, and I thank the stars for it. They deserve lives that are not upended by their parents’ tragedies.

In the end, he sends out a quiet notice to all the locations one might sign up to be sacrificed.

I know this, because when I went to put my name down, I was banned as well.

* * *

When he comes to my apartment that night, after she is gone, I let him in without a word.

He screams at me for betraying his trust. Ranting and raving as if he is surprised.

When he is finished, panting like an exhausted dog, standing over me as I sit on my couch, I summon up a century of courage, saved for this moment. If I am to die, then I will die doing the one thing I know will ruin his precious fictions.

“What would you have done if she had chosen me instead?” My mask is off, my cowl is lowered. If we will have this conversation, it will be as Raphael and Hades, not Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch.

“I would have killed you.” He does not hesitate.

“Do you think that was lost on her?” 

I see him grit his teeth at my question. “Would it matter?” 

I accept my death. I am ready. “She did not choose you for you, Hades. She chose you for _me_.”

It is the fourth punch that makes me black out.

* * *

When I wake, my son is there. He does not know he is my son, but he sees to my wounds with gentleness all the same. I wonder if he got that gentleness from me.

“Why are you here?” I ask. 

“Mother and Father are fighting.” 

_Yes, we are,_ I think, but I do not say it. I say nothing, waiting for him to reveal more.

“You are their advisor,” he says, “You must stop them before they kill each other.”

“He will not kill her,” I say. “If he kills her, he loses her forever.”

“I am more concerned that she might kill him.”

_I do not care,_ I want to scream, but it is a lie. If one of them kills the other, they both die. It is the nature of the _binding_ , and I have become an expert. My son’s eyes darken with secrets.

“What has happened?” I ask. 

“The Convocation has called forth Zodiark,” he says. “And now Zodiark demands more sacrifices to maintain our safety.”

“And she wishes to sacrifice herself?”

“No,” He shakes his head, and a strand of his hair reveals itself. The color of mine, the texture of hers. How I wish I could have been his father in all the ways that mattered. “She is trying to stop him from calling for sacrifices at all. She believes the summoning was a mistake.”

“Do you?” The question is in the air between us before I can stop myself.

“My opinion is irrelevant,” he says. “I am Emet-Selch’s son. I must present a public face that supports my father’s decisions.” His hand finds mine, and he clutches it painfully tight. “And my father chose to love my mother,” he whispers, “despite the fact she _bound_ herself to a madman. She needs you, now.”

His courage to admit the truth shames me further.

* * *

I open the door to their flat. I can hear them, shouting at each other. I hear glass shatter. I hear a door slam.

I am not as powerful as either one of them, but I have my own advantages.

I do not think the way they do.

Hades prefers to go to the problem - to hunt it down through whatever jungle it lurks, tear it apart in its lair.

She prefers to wait for the problem - to wait and wait, until the last moment, then ambush it and destroy it when it falls into her trap.

I bring the problems to me. A slight tug on my aether, and they both stand before me, blinking in confusion.

Hades’s face twists in cruelty, and he lunges for me, but I dart aside, and grab her about her waist.

“Do you trust me?” I ask her, as Hades’s howls grow in intensity.

“Yes,” she says, but her eyes are filled with fear.

“Good enough,” I say, and throw us both from the tower.

As we fall, I pull her close, and summon my aether, whisking us away.

My bedframe cracks as we land on it at near-terminal velocity. My neighbors will complain about the noise.

“What are we going to do?” She asks.

“The only thing we can.”

* * *

It was I who helped Hades determine how to give will to a star. 

It was I who studied the nature of souls and hope and _binding_ and the power of a fervent wish.

It was I who taught him how to summon Zodiark. And Zodiark was so much like _him_.

“What do we do?” She asks. Her fingers touch my face. She is not angry with me anymore. “Zodiark is too monstrous to be fought. Zodiark is Hades writ large.”

I look to her, lift that lock of hair that stole my heart so long ago to my lips.

“How did we stop Hades?”

“I _bound_ myself to him - but, Raphael, I cannot be _bound_ to a god.”

“No,” I agree. “But a goddess can.”

* * *

For a month, we run, and she creates. She hones the vision of this goddess in her mind - a goddess of life, of hope, of change. A kind mother, to look after her children; a counterpoint to temper Zodiark. Hydaelyn, she is to be called - our goddess of second chances.

While she has created, I have summoned others. Many advisors feel as I do - that the decision to create Zodiark was unwise. I learn that, of those advisors of members of the Convocation, I am the only one who assisted in the summoning. Even so, they agree to help with this great work - the last great work of Amaurot.

“I feel vindictive,” she says to me, as we lie naked, twisted up together on the beach, our robes our bed and blanket.

“What would you do?” I ask.

“I want him to be there, when She manifests.” Her voice is courage. Her voice is steel. “I want to see his face when he realizes his defeat.”

“I will bring him, if you ask me to.”

“Do it.” Her fingernails dig into my skin. “Do this thing for me, for all the times you didn’t.”

I know what she means. She has loved me all these years, despite my cowardice. A thousand tragedies could have been prevented, if I had the courage to defy him.

I stand, and pull on my robe. I place my mask upon my face.

“Advisor,” she calls, and I turn to look at her. “How does one undo a _binding_?”

“You must burn him out of you, root and stem,” I say. “You must push with all your self, until you have filled the very matrix of your own soul, then sever the chains by your own hand.” I look to the stars. “It will be painful.”

“It already is,” she says, and stands. 

We kiss, and I know it is the last time I will taste her before all things are undone.

* * *

The sword feels unfamiliar in my hand, most likely because I have never used it.

A gift from her, just a few weeks ago. Now I am going to use it to invite my death.

I enter his office. He is there before I shut the door.

He sees my sword, and raises his own. “You think you can duel _me_?”

“No,” I say, and plunge the sword into the tile. The floor shrieks at the intrusion. But some deeper part of me knows I must leave this here, for later, even as I laugh at myself. There will be no later. “She is enacting her own summoning.”

“What?” He growls, advancing on me.

I smile, triumphant. It is a lie. This is a tragedy.

“You can’t stop her.”

I vanish, and leave just enough of a trace of me that he can follow.

* * *

I stumble onto the beach, and run towards her. The rest of our compatriots are there; the sigils are laid. 

Hades is not far behind me.

He bellows in rage as he understands what she is doing. “You cannot!” he howls. “I forbid it!”

Her face is a mask of cruelty as I rush past her, but her eyes are only on him. Vindictiveness, indeed.

“Yet again, I shall triumph over _you_ ,” she calls, safe behind a barrier of aether. “I have taken everything from you, Emet-Selch - your security, your hopes, your dreams, your advisor. And now I shall take your victory.”

“You are _mine!_ ” he shouts, and his fist slams into the aetheric barrier. “What paltry god can you summon with so few sacrifices?”

“It is another demonstration of my superiority,” she says, and she smirks, cat-like. “You required three-quarters of our people, to bring about your Zodiark. I need merely will it so, and I shall summon one to _bind_ Him, and then _break_ Him.”

His expression changes, and I am shocked. He knows. He knows she is the better of the two of them - he knows she is more powerful. He knows she can do as she claims, and that she will.

“Why are you doing this?” Hades asks, his voice weak.

“For those we have lost,” she whispers, and she looks at me, as if firming her resolve. “And those we can yet save.”

Aether flows from her, causing the very air to hum as her great will, her fervent wish, is made manifest. For one brief instant, I see Hydaelyn, and all the facets she has imbued Her with. I see our million second chances, I see a future where nothing is so final as things are in Amaurot.

Then all we are is Shattered.


	28. Amaurot, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger and Thancred check out the Capitol building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're quickly approaching the end of this story (though not the end of this series! I have three more fics planned for it)! I'll have more details about things in the Epilogue! I hope you guys have been enjoying this as much as I have.

Urianger stumbled back from Hythlodaeus in confusion. “Now you know,” the shade said, smiling kindly.

The memories were strange to Urianger, like a stage play he had seen performed a thousand times. His heart hurt for Raphael and his lover, but it was a distant hurt, like the one he felt for Thancred and Y’shtola. It was someone else’s burden, someone else’s pain.

“Dost thou expect my pity?” he asked.

“No,” Hythlodaeus replied. “Your pity will do nothing for me. I am long gone - but you and she are our second chance. You are different people, carrying our wish for the future within you. That is something Hades could never see.”

The shade turned and walked back towards the bustling streets.

“Wait,” Urianger said, and he stopped. “The way to break the binding thou hast shown me - art thou sure?”

“I am,” he replied. Hythlodaeus tilted his head, and looked up at the shifting waves above. “I will go and see her now, I think. One last look at her before I fade away.”

“Thou hast my thanks,” Urianger replied. 

Raphael smiled at him. “The best way you can thank me is to love her with courage, the way I never could.”

* * *

A sigh of relief passed Urianger’s lips as he entered another plaza, and saw his beloved standing with the rest of their company. He had not realized the weight Hythlodaeus’s memories had placed on him until he saw her, safe and whole. _I wilt not be a reprise of thy ancient tragedies,_ he swore to himself, and approached.

“Oh, Urianger!” Alphinaud said, “We were just -” 

He ignored the boy completely, pulling the Champion away from them, and pressed her into the wall of a nearby building. He kissed her roughly, letting the last bits of stress from the shade’s revelations bleed from him in the warmth of her embrace. “There thou art,” he whispered when they broke apart.

She smiled. “Here I am.”

“After this business is finished,” he whispered, “Thou wilt return with me to Il Mheg. I find myself overwrought with desire for thee.” She giggled into his lips when he kissed her again.

“Soon, Urianger,” she whispered.

“Not soon enough,” he growled.

Thancred coughed loudly. “There are children present, for the Twelve’s sake.”

She blushed, and straightened her jacket, before returning to the group. “Sorry,” she said. Urianger said nothing, but he stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

Y’shtola rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Where were we?”

The others shared their experiences, but Urianger did not tell them of Hythlodaeus. That was a story for another time, he decided.

“‘Twould seem our conversations were much alike,” Y’shtola said. “A looming disaster, creation magicks running rampant, and this Convocation’s efforts to bring salvation out of chaos.”

Alphinaud nodded. “I suppose there was talk of little else in the time when these events came to pass.”

Y’shtola turned to him. “Ah, Urianger, if I may. What are your thoughts on the ancients’ art of creation?”

“A fascinating discipline, indeed,” he replied. He brushed his lover’s hair aside, exposing her neck. He did not plant a kiss there, though he yearned to - he merely wanted to see her pulse fluttering there, to see the flush of life within her skin - to remind himself she yet lived. “Aught the mind can conceive may be rendered in reality - all that is required is a clear ‘concept’ upon which to focus one’s will.” That had been the source of the woman’s strength, in ancient Amaurot - her imagination. Her ability to envision things of which no one before had dreamed. “‘Tis not dissimilar to the primal rites taught by the Ascians, wherein ritual ceremony breatheth life into figments of myth and legend.”

Y’shtola nodded. “I see we arrived at the same conclusion, then.”

 _Aye,_ Urianger thought, _but I have been given the proof._

“The people who lived in the age before the sundering were blessed with vast reserves of mana…” the Miqo’te continued. “No matter how draining these creation magicks must be, it seems they paid the cost with not more than a fraction of the aether which coursed through their own bodies.” She turned her gaze to the Champion. “If we were to attempt the same, such spells would soon deplete our energies, and then seek to draw the balance from elsewhere - from a hoard of crystals, mayhap, or the very land itself. Thus when this art of creation was placed into our hands, it became, in effect, a means for destruction.”

“An interesting matter which no doubt bears further study,” Alisaie interrupted. “But despite all these revelations, I worry we are no closer to finding Emet-Selch.” She looked about the group. “Has anyone learned aught which might lead us to his location?”

“Not directly, mayhap,” Thancred said, “but from what we’ve heard, it seems the Convocation of Fourteen is sequestered in the nearby Capitol Building.”

Ryne turned to the Champion. “When we went to see for ourselves, the attendant wouldn’t let us through without a writ of permission. So we tried our luck at the Bureau of the Administrator, where we thought these permissions might be issued. But the clerk there said he couldn’t help us since our names didn’t appear in the registry.” 

“And that was where we gave up.” Thancred sighed, eyeing the woman in Urianger’s arms. ”I wonder, though… Could _you_ be eligible for one of these writs? The voice in the lift seemed to know who you were - it might be that your name is registered at the bureaus as well. Worth a look, I’d say.” She nodded, and Thancred grinned. “Meanwhile, I’ll head back to the Capitol and search for a less ‘official’ point of entry. Just in case.”

Urianger looked down at his beloved. She was still dressed in the clothes she had worn to fight Vauthry, though now she was unarmed, Emet-Selch having reclaimed his rapier. An idea - a memory from a dream - seemed to surface in his mind. He looked to Thancred. “Pray, allow me to accompany thee on thy reconnaissance. An arcane perspective may prove needful.” Thancred shrugged, but nodded his agreement.

Ryne approached Alisaie. “Ahem,” The Elezen girl turned to look at her. “I… I think I’d like to speak with more of these ancients. Maybe they know something that could help cure her condition.” She looked pointedly towards the Champion, then back to the girl. “Would you mind coming with me?”

Alisaie smiled. “Of course I don’t mind! Just lead the way!” She then tossed a cheeky grin at Alphinaud, slipping her arm into Ryne’s as the two girls wandered off.

The boy scratched at his barely-existent stubble irritably. “Then Y’shtola and I will busy ourselves with further exploration. There is surely more intelligence to be had.” He looked to the Champion. “And so we part ways once more… This time, however, let us reconvene in front of the Capitol.” 

She nodded, and they began to split off, but not before Urianger gave her one last, desperate kiss. “Do not lose heart, _minette_ ,” he said to her. “I believe I might have stumbled upon a plan. Go and see if thou canst acquire a writ. I will see thee soon.”

Then he and Thancred departed for the Capitol Building.

* * *

Once they were away from the others, Urianger glanced at Thancred out of the corner of his eye. “Thou art my closest friend - thou knowest this, yes?”

Thancred laughed. “It’s not like there is stiff competition for the position,” he said. “But I am aware you hold me in high - if unearned - regard.”

“Wouldst thou keep a secret from the others, for me?” Urianger asked.

Thancred stopped. “A secret,” he grinned. “Your secrets are always rather big.” 

“Yes, but this one wilt require placing us both in the path of the Ascian, and drawing his attention unto us for a time. And I wouldst not have my beloved know what I have done until after all has been made right.” 

Thancred shrugged. “Living dangerously, are we? That’s not like you at all.”

“No,” Urianger nodded. “It is not. And mayhap that hath been my problem, all these years. A lack of courage.”

“Then I’m with you ‘till the end, my friend. If for no other reason than I won’t let you go it alone.”

Urianger bowed. “Thou hast my gratitude.”

They continued on to the doors of the Capitol building. Thancred put a hand on his arm. “Those are the main doors. Ryne and I couldn’t get in that way, but -”

“But I believe that I can,” Urianger replied. Thancred’s eyebrows raised, but he followed Urianger, watching him curiously.

The two men walked up to the attendant at the front desk within the Capitol. The figure stared down at them, and Urianger summoned up his courage. “I am Hythlodaeus. This is my guest.”

Thancred frowned, but said nothing as the woman fussed with something on her desk. Then she smiled to them. “Thank you for your continued service, Advisor Hythlodaeus. The elevator is prepared for you.”

Urianger bowed, then made for the elevators, Thancred trailing in his wake. As soon as they were out of earshot, the man asked, “Hythlodaeus?”

“‘Twas a title of a member of this ancient people. I learned it in my questioning.” Urianger said.

“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me the whole story?” Thancred replied.

“Because I am not. Once we are passed this trial, please, I beg thee, join me in Il Mheg, and thou shall have the whole of it, along with a bottle of brandy, if thou art so inclined.”

Thancred laughed. “Well, when you put it like that, I’m not nearly as curious as I thought I was at this _particular_ moment.”

The ride to the top was relatively silent. Urianger kept checking himself over, remembering the paths Hythlodaeus had shown him. Seemingly endless, identical hallways and doors, but behind one, the prize he sought. The prize his ancient soul had left, for a tomorrow he would never see.

Urianger counted the doors as he ran, and stumbled to a stop before the fifth. He swallowed nervously, and looked to Thancred. “When the others ask, we found ourselves unable to enter into this building.”

“Right,” Thancred said. His eyes were wide, seeing and hearing all, a hand on the hilt of his gunblade.

Urianger pushed open the door, and stepped into the office.

The skyline of Amaurot was spread before them, and they stood transfixed, seeing the whole city in its cold glory as it must have been in those ancient days.

 _A Utopia of learning,_ he thought, touching the glass. _It could have been the greatest heaven, but Emet-Selch’s jealousy made of it a hell._

A door creaked, and they both whirled to find the Ascian stepping out of a back room. He stared at them in confusion for a moment, then spoke. “What are you doing here?”

Thancred looked at Urianger, clearly hoping for a response.

 _How much trouble,_ Urianger asked himself, _art thou willing to borrow for her?_ He felt the press of all the times he had failed her - both as Hythlodaeus and Urianger - bearing down upon him. _I suppose I can but be brave and stupid, sometimes, just like Thancred._

He strolled toward a low sideboard, and poured himself a glass of whatever alcohol was in the decanter, as Emet-Selch stared him down in confusion, and mild respect for the sheer amount of courage this nonchalance must require. “I had heard thou had an excellent vintage here, Ascian.” He sipped from the glass. Scotch. Emet-Selch’s eye began to twitch as he watched Urianger meander over towards the rapier plunged into the tile floor. He finished the glass in one quick gulp. _Liquid courage, indeed._

Summoning every ounce of internal fortitude, he looked Emet-Selch in the eye. “And I realized I left something, the last time I visited thee,” his hand closed around the hilt of the rapier, and he pulled it from the floor with a smooth jerk. He tucked the blade beneath his arm, and bowed. “Until next time, _Hades_.”

The looks that passed the Ascian’s face were a delight in themselves, but as they settled into apocalyptic rage, Thancred grabbed his arm. “You should be _running_ , idiot!”

His friend pulled him back out of the office, even as a howl of fury echoed through the building. They ran as fast as they could down a nearby stairwell, ignoring the sounds of destruction coming from above. Halfway down the tower, Urianger pushed his way onto the floor proper. “Elidibus…” He gasped, running through the halls.

“What?” Thancred asked, still following. 

“Elidibus keepeth a window open,” he said, and pushed open the door to another office. Sure enough, one large window was open, allowing in the non-existent breeze. 

“This is the most idiotic thing I have ever done,” Urianger said, then rushed to the window, flinging himself out into the trees below, the sword still held tightly in his grasp.

* * *

“Have I told you you are an idiot?” Thancred asked.

“At least three times in the last quarter-hour, my friend,” Urianger replied. They had successfully given the Ascian the slip, if only because something more pressing had caught his attention. Now they looked towards their friends, who had gathered nearby. “Remember, not a word of what transpired.”

“No worry of that, Urianger,” Thancred said, running a hand through his hair. “Y’shtola’s like to kill me if she knew.”

They approached the group, and everyone was all smiles, until Alisaie’s eyes landed on the rapier tucked under Urianger’s arm. “What is _that_?” She asked.

“‘Tis a very long story, I fear,” he replied. He offered the blade to his beloved. “If thou wilt take it, I would be most pleased, my lady.”

She grinned, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “What was it you said to me before, Urianger?” Her left hand found his cheek, and she rubbed the thumb of it over his tattoo affectionately, even as her right took the rapier by the hilt. “Aught you have is mine for the taking, if I have need of it?”

He smiled back at her, calmed to see her still herself. “I would have thee answer a question, if thou art willing?” She nodded. Urianger swallowed nervously. “Art thou still sure of thy path?”

She tilted her head and regarded him. “To find Emet-Selch, purge myself of the Light, undo the _binding_ , and end him?” Urianger nodded, and she reached into her satchel, retrieving the item she would use as focus - the white auracite he had given to her in Il Mheg. “Yes. If nothing else, I deserve to live. I deserve to be free of him.”

“How were your bureaucratic adventures?” Thancred asked the Champion. Y’shtola was eyeing him. _The lady doth suspect,_ Urianger realized, _best to hurry about our business before she questions too much._

Urianger watched his beloved pull a small envelope stuffed with paper out, and wave it in the air before the Hyur.

“Aah, I see my instincts were correct!” Thancred said. “And a good thing, too. Urianger and I weighed our chances of breaking into the Capitol, and an official entrance is by far the more attractive option.”

Y’shtola’s unseeing eyes shot to Urianger for a moment. _She knoweth we lie, now,_ Urianger thought, but aloud he said, “The Capitol boasteth not a single armed sentry. ‘Twould seem that in their time, they did not deem it needful to post guards.” _Who would,_ he mused, _with power like theirs?_ “The windows and doors, however, appear heavily warded,” he continued, “Though mightily did we strive, with strength mundane and magical, we failed to budget them even a fraction of one ilm. Mayhap ‘twas simply the case that Emet-Selch’s recreation did not extend to their usual function.”

Y’shtola stared at them incredulously, but said nothing as Thancred nodded his agreement and spoke. “We didn’t try _everything_ , of course, but we thought it best to conserve our time and energy for more pressing matters.”

“Speaking of which, Ryne and I tried asking about a cure for you,” Alisaie said. “The problem is, these ancients didn’t exist beyond Amaurot’s ‘today.’ They will happily tell their own tales, but whenever we attempted to explain our situation, the conversation quickly became muddled.”

Y’shtola glowered at Urianger and Thancred a moment more, then turned to the Champion. “What of you, sister? Was aught worthy of interest said during your efforts to obtain a writ?”

She told her own tale, of her meeting with the shade of Hythlodaeus. Thancred recognized the name, when she said it, but Urianger was relieved that he did not ask, and that the shade did not tell her of their lives in Ancient Amaurot. _’Tis a guilt she wouldst carry close to her heart, and she hath ever been the martyr,_ he thought. Were she to perceive giving herself to the Ascian as a way to save her friends, she would do it without hesitation. _I will not allow it to happen again._

“A great sacrifice of life in exchange for their brethren’s resurrection… and you say all the Ascians’ scheming has been leading to this!?” Alphinaud asked, shocked. The Champion nodded, and the boy bowed his head. “All this time… But if they still mean to enact this plan, then things won’t end with the Rejoining…”

Y’shtola sighed. “Aye, I thought we knew their intentions in full: restore the world to its former glory, and, in turn, empower Zodiark to reclaim his throne as the will of the star,” she said. “Yet that was merely a step along the way. I hesitate to put it into words, but we have to assume that following the final Rejoining, the Ascians mean to draw on the lives of the Source to make their sacrifice to Zodiark.” Urianger heard a rustle of fabric as his beloved tensed.

“That does seem the most likely scenario,” Alphinaud agreed. “Mayhap those who ally with the Ascians would be spared that fate…” He shook his head. “But what value is there in surviving when all our history, all our struggles will be erased? I cannot conscience such an act.”

“Of course not,” Alisaie said, crossing her arms. “And that’s to say naught of what Emet-Selch plans for the Exarch’s power. Do we stand by and let him threaten our future as well as our past?” The Champion looked down at her hand, and Alisaie turned to her. “We need to find him. And when we do…” she put her hand on her shoulder, in affection. “Make your mark. Change the course of history in a way that’s felt by those who came before, and those who came after; by everyone you’ve ever met.” The girl trembled and pulled the Champion close, embracing the woman in a hug. “Change things so that even my other self, dying somewhere in that future Calamity will smile and say, “I knew you would win.” The Champion squeezed the girl tightly before letting her go.

“...Is fighting Emet-Selch the only way?” Ryne asked, anxiously staring at her feet. She turned to the hero. “He created an _entire city_. It will take everything we have to defeat him… if we even can.” She bit her lip. “And if you push that hard in your current state, the Light _will_ break free…”

It was Y’shtola’s turn to wrap her arms around the Champion, and she set her chin stubbornly on the woman’s shoulder. “The decision to press on lies with you. Just as it lies with each and every one of us.”

They all paused, weighing the balance of what must be done with their slim chance of success. Well, most of them. Urianger already knew his heart and mind on this matter. He would see her safe and whole and free of the Ascian, or die in the attempt. This decision, so unlike most of the choices in his life, was blessedly simple. He took her in his arms, and buried his face in her hair, kissing her scalp beneath the sandalwood-scented locks softly. There were a thousand things he wished to tell her, but they all paled in comparison to the truth he could no longer deny. _Thou we be not_ bound _in the same sense, our souls have been twisted together since that time before time. He walked with her, then. I shall walk with thee, now. There is no path but forward, and no future but this._ Though he did not speak the words aloud, he felt a change pass through her, a firming of her resolve.

She turned from him, and looked up at the Capitol, then tightened her grip on Hythlodaeus’s rapier.


	29. Amaurot, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Champion and her companions face Emet-Selch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was longer than I initially planned, but I figured you'd prefer one long chapter to two. I should have this story finished this weekend, hopefully.

She took a few moments to speak to each of them, quietly, before she proceeded. Some had tears, some laughed, but all seemed enraptured by her, and firm in their desire to see her well.

When she finally came to Urianger, he brushed her hair out of her face. “As well thou knowest, if we are to usher Emet-Selch unto his rest, we must needs bind his Ascian soul… and then shatter it with overwhelming force. The former task requireth auracite,” he said, reaching over and touching the piece of it at her hip, letting his fingers trail along her waist as he did so, “and such have I prepared - upon the Exarch’s asking, no less, though ‘twas ever mine intent to provide said boon.” He looked her over. “The future whence our noble friend doth hail is a world fallen to Ascian artifice, and he would not see such grim history repeated. In a sense, Emet-Selch’s destruction will be the culmination of the Exarch’s efforts - a reward for all he hath endured these many years.” He kissed her cheek, pulling her close to hold her. “Yet even as thou stridest into the jaws of peril, forget not but that his fondest wish - and that of many others, besides - is to see the survive unto the morrow. ‘Tis in pursuit of that happiest of outcomes that I do pledge to remain at thy side.” 

She pulled away, and smiled up at Urianger as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Thou art my northern star, beloved - the light by which I chart my course through all that lies ahead. If thou wilt have faith, I will have courage, and together, we shall see what dreams may come to us in the uncharted seas of our eternity.” He kissed her once more, as if mere physicality could convey the depth of his love for her.

Ryne lingered nearby, and so Urianger released her, and allowed the child to say her piece to the Champion in privacy, before they came to the end.

* * *

Inside the Capitol, the Champion strode to a nearby attendant, offering her paperwork to them. They took a moment to review them, then smiled. “Your documents appear to be in order. You may proceed into the Capitol - but any guests you may choose to bring with you must remain in your vicinity at all times.” As she turned away, the figure called, “Do give my regards to your _vir_ , my lady.” She winced. They walked towards the large double doors at the back of the hall.

“This really is unacceptable,” Emet-Selch’s voice echoed off the marble and gold walls. “I gave you _very_ specific instructions, _uxor_.” His words slurred, just a touch, as if he was slightly drunk - though from alcohol or rage, Urianger could not tell.

“Emet-Selch,” Alphinaud growled.

The Ascian seemed unbothered by the boy, taking a moment to glance at Urianger with hate-filled eyes before returning his gaze to the Champion. “My invitation was for an abomination, ripe with the power to bring about the world’s annihilation.” He looked at her with a sneer, though his eyes kept flicking to the rapier at her hip, and his eye twitched. “Not this half-broken… thing. Whatever am I to do with you?” 

Unable to resist the urge, he focused on Urianger more directly. “And I see you insist on keeping the same familiar company, _uxor_. Are you so lost without our advisor?”

Y’shtola took a step forward. “It is not _she_ who is lost without the familiar.” Her voice was acidic with loathing. “Not content with remaking an entire city, you aim to fill it with the reconstituted souls of the dead.”

Emet-Selch smiled ruefully. “I _may_ have gotten a _little_ carried away, in my attention to detail. Added a few unnecessary flourishes…” He gave an affectionate grin to the Champion. “Well, there’s no point trying to hide it. Yes.” He wrapped his arms around himself like he did in Amh Araeng, and gave the woman before him a half-lidded gaze. “I did it all for you, _uxor_. I thought maybe remembering our home might remind you of all that we meant to each other…” He looked up at Urianger, his face hardening. “Before Hythlodaeus betrayed us both, and turned your head in your loneliness.” 

The Ascian took a few steps closer, then took her hand in his. She did not pull away, but she did not encourage him, either. “Once the rejoining of worlds is complete, Zodiark will regain His full strength and shatter His prison. Then we shall offer up the Source’s remaining inhabitants in sacrifice, that we might resurrect our brethren who died to bring Zodiark into existence. Things will be alright.” He reached up, and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “You will go back to the way you were. You will be my _uxor_ again, and I swear to you, on Zodiark himself, upon my seat on the Convocation, I will be a better _vir_. I will not leave you alone again. I will listen better. You will see.”

Emet-Selch’s eyes raised from hers to Urianger’s. “But what was it that _you_ came here to do, exactly?”

Urianger said nothing, but the Champion replied, “We are here for the Exarch.”

The Ascian pulled away, a petulant child’s pout on his face. “Well, you can’t have him. The wisdom that man guards may open up new worlds of possibilities.” He looked back at the Champion. “He has unlocked the secrets of travel across the rift - and through time as well, it would seem. Quite an accomplishment for one of his ‘incomplete’ nature. Just think, _uxor_. We could go back, and right so many wrongs. I could be a better _vir_ from the start, and you would never have dallied with Raphael.” She looked at him in confusion, and Urianger almost laughed. “I _must_ explore the limits of his capabilities, and harness that power for the Ardor.” 

The Champion pulled her hand from his at last, and took a step back from him, to Urianger, refusing to meet his gaze. Emet-Selch shook his head. “Even now, after _everything_ , you refuse to see reason. You think it unfair that you are subject to suffering? After all the suffering I did for you?” He looked to the rest of them. “You think it unfair that your lives will be sacrificed for the ancients.” 

His hands clamped around her shoulders, and he shook her. “ _Look at me!_ I have lived a thousand _thousand_ of your lives! I have broken bread with you, fought with you, grown ill, grown old! Sired children _on thee_ , and yes, welcomed death’s sweet embrace.” He crushed her against him, kissing her greedily, the fingers of his gloves stretched taut with the strength of his grip. “For eons have I measured your worth and found you wanting! Too weak and feeble-minded to serve as stewardess of any star!” He pressed his forehead against hers. “But now… now, _uxor_ , we are so _damnably_ close!”

He started shaking her again. “Have your recent spats with Vauthry and his sin eaters taught you nothing? Have you not learned that your ignorance and frailty beget only endless misery? How long do you mean to perpetuate this farce? How much more must I endure your bumbling interference? How much more must I endure your petty attempts to make me jealous? How long will I suffer your indifference in favor of a mere _advisor_? How many more centuries must be spent fighting against your impulsive creation, and the reality She has wrought?” 

The Ascian closed his eyes and sighed, then gave her a stern look. “Let us imagine that the laws of reality are again undone, and the world faces true annihilation. Do you honestly believe that half their number would sacrifice themselves to save the other?” He laughed, and gave her another quick shake. “Of course they wouldn’t! And if _you_ had witnessed history unfold as _I_ have, you would reach the _same_ conclusion. They cannot be entrusted with our legacy.” He kissed her forehead. “Worry not. _I_ will bring back our brethren. Our friends. Our loved ones. Our children. The world belongs to _us_ , and us alone. When all is made right, we will kill Elidibus. I will return you to your place on the Convocation. It will be a Convocation of Two, and we will rule over it, together, as we were _meant_ to.” He cradled her for a moment, in the depths of his madness, then stepped away from her. “You will see. I will _make_ you see.” He turned from her, and began walking away.

“Emet-Selch!” Alphinaud called, bravery and anger filling the normally passive boy’s face. The Ascian stopped. “We understand. Truly. But it makes no difference. The ones you love are in the past.” Urianger found him surprised by his perceptiveness. “While ours are here, in the present.” the boy swallowed. “One day, we too will be ashes and dust, but not today. Our time is not yet finished. We share your conviction… and that is why we will not abandon our course.”

The Ascian’s back was still too them, but there was something familiar about the way his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing. Some distant part of Urianger, the part that had been Hythlodaeus, recognized it as the cold, cruel anger he would exhibit before he would do something everyone would regret. “You think us the same?” He said, turning back to glare at Alphinaud. “You think your tattered soul of equal worth to those _I_ lost?” He laughed, darkly. “Then come - _earn_ your place. Prove yourselves _worthy_ to inherit this star.” The great doors before him opened with a weighty groan, revealing a fiery landscape. “Behold the coming oblivion.” His eyes settled on the Champion again. “Behold what you wrought in your _disobedience_. ‘Twas the end of our era, and the beginning of our great work.” His eyes moved from her, to Urianger, and the hate that coiled within them took his breath away. “A fitting backdrop… for your final judgement, Hythlodaeus.”

He gave the rest of them a dismissive smile, then turned his back. “I shall wait within, but do not spend too much time on your preparations. There’s no telling how much longer the guest of honor will last.” He strode into the flames, unbothered by their wanton destruction.

Urianger moved to his beloved’s side, and she looked up at him, afraid. “I will be by thy side. Have faith, and I shall have courage.”

She swallowed. “When I kill him…” Her eyes closed, and she drew in a deep breath. “When I kill him, I will die. It is the way of being _bound_ , according to Y’shtola. Then I will be reborn, but so will he.” Her hands shook as the clutched at Urianger’s arms. “Find me. Wherever I am, wherever I am reborn. _Find me._ Love me, if you can. Just… don’t let me live another tragedy like _this_ , Urianger, please.” He pulled her close, one hand on the small of her back, the other threaded through her hair, cradling her head against his chest. 

“I know how to undo the _binding_.” Her eyes went wide. “It will be difficult, but if thou hast taught me anything, beloved, it is that what is worth having is never easy to obtain.” His chagrined smile made her laugh. “Thou art worth all this and more, even an thou love me not when this is over.” Urianger’s lips brushed her ear, and he whispered the secret Hythlodaeus had shared.

* * *

They raced through the city as destruction rained around them, the Champion’s eyes wide with horror. “What did he mean?” she asked, running towards - but failing to save - two Amaurotines who were crushed by flaming debris. She turned to Urianger. “What did he mean when he said that I wrought this in my disobedience?” 

“‘Tis a long tale, beloved,” he said, pulling her back to him with his aether before another piece of rubble obliterated the area she had stood just moments before. “And though I am eager to tell thee, we haveth not the time.”

She swallowed anxiously. “Did I do this?” She danced back from a monster. “Urianger, tell me the truth. _Did I do this_?”

“That depends on thy definition,” - he pulled a card, Balance, and cast its blessings upon her - “of _thee_.” Aether flowed through her rapier, and the twisted creature seized with electrifying magicks as she thrust her blade into it. “To my mind, thou art innocent of this. Thy ancient soul _is_ indeed one of those who caused this destruction. But mine is the one who showed her the way.”

The others stared at him in shock, but she continued fighting. “How?” she asked, as the creature before her fell. “How can you be so sure?”

Urianger placed a hand on her shoulder. “Who else but thee would give unto us a goddess of love and second chances?”

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

* * *

They pressed on, further up and further in, to the end of this world, watching as the near-black purple of Zodiark and the near-white blue of Hydaelyn warred across the heavens, and Amaurot came apart at its seams. Aether carried them across widening rifts, and creatures from that space between worlds poured forth to stop them, but the Champion did not hesitate. The rapier in her hands had been made to answer to Hythlodaeus’s aether, now Urianger’s aether, and with them in aetheric resonance it sang in her grasp, as eager to please her as everything else in the world.

Urianger mused on the strange sort of sense it made - in Ancient Amaurot, her soul had summoned Hydaelyn into existence. What would a loving goddess do for their creatrix, but make a multiverse wherein all things bent to the whim of she who would give everything to have it right. Eons after the end, her soul was still Hydaelyn’s chosen, by merit of being the one who chose Hydaelyn. 

At long last, the final creature fell, and they found themselves upon a great precipice, high in the clouds above the dying world.

“Well, well,” Emet-Selch said, striding out of the void towards them. His eyes were locked on the Champion. “You prevailed…” Her hand flexed over the rapier’s hilt, and she twirled it in her hand, adjusting her grip. He didn’t blink, just continued, “Nevertheless…”

Dark power radiated out from him, knocking all of them to the ground - except her. She had planted her feet in a wide warrior’s stance, and though Urianger could see the strength of it in the way it ripped her hair free of its braids, she would not be moved.

“Your performance was underwhelming,” the Ascian said. “And I remain unconvinced of your worthiness.” She straightened, keeping her gaze level with his, and Urianger saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. “Oh, you tower over your misbegotten ilk, no doubt. But should I bring my full strength to bear, well… you would be as leaves in the wind.” He gave the Champion a tired smile. “Return to my side, _uxor_. Forget Raphael. The gulf between us is a reflection of the disparity between the world as it was… and what it has become. How can a half man love you as you deserve? What can he give you? Books and ink and parchment? I can give you all the knowledge that ever has been, in Amaurot and this sundered hell you seem eager to defend. Do you wish to be an Empress again? You always enjoyed the dancing, the dresses - it can all be yours. What castles can he give you besides those spun of clouds?”

Alisaie stumbled to her feet and rushed forward, her own rapier, of Urianger’s make, whistling through the air as it slammed against an aetheric shield before the Emet-Selch with a thunderous crack. “Our worlds may not live up to your lofty standards…” the girl said, “But they are _our_ worlds. _Our_ homes! Full of life and love and hope!” She stumbled back from the shield, then rushed it again, slash after slash doing nothing. “And we won’t stand by and let you destroy them!”

The Ascian didn’t even look at the girl. His eyes still drinking in the Champion, he raised an arm, and Alisaie was thrown back, landing unceremoniously on the uneven stone.

“Alisaie!” Alphinaud shouted, and he ran to his twin.

Finally, Emet-Selch deigned to look at them, before crossing his arms. “You are a mistake.” He looked to his _uxor_ again. “For we who have known perfection, the shattered Source and these shards are ghastly _mockeries_ of the true world.” He shook his head. “The ephemeral lives you exalt, _uxor_ , are pale imitations, utterly devoid of meaning.”

Alphinaud lifted his sister in his arms. “Belittle us all you like, but we will rise again and again, and give the lie to your insults through word and deed.” When he lifted his head and stared at the Ascian, Urianger was overcome by the similarities again, between the boy and Louisoix. The same courage, the same conviction, the same willingness to save them all and damn the consequences. “ _We_ define our worth, not the circumstances of our creation,” Alphinaud said.

Emet-Selch rolled his eyes. “Hmph, more prattle.” He snapped his fingers, and strange projectiles fell to the ground around the twins, only to explode a moment later. A look of horror passed the Champion’s face, and when the smoke cleared, Alphinaud was slumped over his sister, unmoving.

 _No,_ Urianger thought. _Not like this…_ He watched his beloved draw herself up to her full height, and enter a duelist’s stance.

The Ascian laughed. “Fool. Who are you, without me? No one. _Nothing._ ” His voice took on a tone of command. “Once I have reclaimed my heritage, my first act will be to expunge their stain from history’s weave, and your memory, _uxor_.” His voice lowered, that same, deathly calm that Hythlodaeus knew so well in those final weeks. “My world will have no need for heroes. You will know your place, and it is by _my_ side.”  
Rapier in hand, she began to walk forward, but her steps were sluggish - her shoulders, bent. _Twelve,_ Urianger thought, climbing to his feet. _Hydaelyn! She will not last much longer._

“Still fighting the good fight…” Emet-Selch waved his hand, and a bolt of energy left his hand, sailing towards her.

 _Of course,_ Urianger realized. _She is_ bound _to him. He knoweth that she shall be reincarnated. As he said before, he can always_ try again _. This specific incarnation means nothing save her being one of many he has courted in his search for her._ He raised his astrolabe and channelled his aether, a shield springing around her and deflecting the blow. 

“Though she meaneth naught to thee, Hades,” Urianger called, eyeing the Ascian, “I wouldst tear this world asunder for her.”

Emet-Selch laughed. “Did you forget, Raphael?” He gestured to the apocalypse around them. “You already have!”

Urianger hoped the distraction he had provided was enough, and Y’shtola raised her staff in the air, calling elemental aether to defend their friend - but he saw the Ascian’s eyes shift slightly, taking in them both. The meteor she summoned crashed down upon him, shrouding him in smoke.

“It is true that all we hold dear is fated to fade away…” Y’shtola cried, “But that is no reason for us to forsake it!”

Urianger nodded his agreement. “To take what steps we may, and thus mark the road for those who would follow. To strive for the best of all futures...” _As Hythlodaeus hath done for me._ His eyes flicked to the white auracite at his lover’s side, then back to the Ascian. _Gods, I can but pray she shall succeed._ “Be this not also thy purpose?”

Two dark bolts shot from the cloud of smoke, and Urianger knew nothing else.

* * *

Urianger sat up, rubbing his head. He was in his bed in Bookman’s Shelves, and he could hear the tea kettle shrieking downstairs. 

He stood, and pulled on a comfortable robe, stepping gingerly over the flowers she had left on the steps, and looked about for the Champion.

“Beloved?” he called.

As he turned to the small kitchenette, he stopped in his tracks.

 _She_ stood there.

“Moenbryda,” he whispered.

She turned to him, smiling, with a mug of tea in each hand. “Hello, Urianger. Did you miss me?”

The Roegadyn took a seat in one of the shabby armchairs and set the tea on the low coffee table. “Come, stop gaping like a fish and sit with me. We haven’t had a chance to talk in so long.”

He sat awkwardly on the couch, staring at her. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and the guilt of not loving her the way she deserved flooded him suddenly. “I fear I owe thee an apology, my lady, I -”

“You love the Warrior of Light,” her face had no malice, no anger, and her smile was just the same. “I know. I knew then, too. Why else do you think I gave my life to destroy Nabriales? He would have killed her, otherwise.”

“W-what?” he was not sure how to respond.

“Really, Urianger, you’ve always been terrible with women.” Her laugh was musical. “The second I saw you two in the same room, I knew I had no chance. I wish you could have seen the way you looked at her. Still look at her, if truth be told.” He said nothing, just staring in confusion, and she gestured to the mug before him. “Drink some tea, it will help your nerves.”

He did as instructed, robotically. The tea, a chamomile-peppermint blend, did help. “Still… Thou deserved someone who -”

“Not all of us are given to such passions as you and your beloved, Urianger,” her smile was winsome and kind. “I loved in my life, yes, but not with the same devotion and ardor you need. Why else do you think I didn’t press the issue when you went away? Why do you think I didn’t go to _your_ bed in the Waking Sands?” She reached over, and took his hand in hers, the same way Y’shtola would - the clasp of a dear friend, but nothing more. “You have always carried your responsibilities close to your heart. When we were young, and I was the only woman you were near to, you fancied yourself in love with me because your soul remembered that you _loved_ so fiercely. So you made promises to me that you didn’t mean, and then when you found _her_... You simply couldn’t allow yourself to see her as an option, because your mind had decided loving me was what you must do.”

“How dost thou know all this?” Urianger asked. He did not release her hand, but stared down at it. How many times had he imagined his mother’s ring on her? It settled in him when he realized - he never had. Not once.

“Yet you imagined the ring on her hand the first time she touched you. Her hand on your arm, and you saw it there, clear as day, as if it were meant for her. Because, in the end, it was.” 

He scowled. “Now thou knowest mine own thoughts?”

“I am not the _real_ Moenbryda,” she chuckled. “You know that. I am your memories of Moenbryda made manifest. Not the terrifying apparition crafted by your guilt, but the memories of your friend, and all the truths you know she would speak if she were here.”

“Then that talk of not loving me was mere fanciful conjecture?” Urianger asked.

“No,” Her pale blue locks bounced as she laughed. “You already knew I didn’t feel that way. I did not kiss you, I did not seek time alone with you outside of what was appropriate for friends. And you were comparing that, directly, to all the times _she_ found more and more ridiculous excuses to be by your side, even if you didn’t realize it.” She released his hand and took a sip of tea. “You are more perceptive than you give yourself credit for. She will need that from you, soon.”

A soft, familiar chiming echoed from another table, and Urianger turned to see Hythlodaeus sitting there. “She is right,” the shade said. “ _She_ has always hated to end lives, even when it is necessary. Monsters and Primals she will slay without compunction - they are mindless dangers. But how many times did she try to negotiate with the Garleans, rather than kill them. Why does Fordola rem Lupis yet live?”

“Do you think Hades will let her end him without making sure she remembers everything?” Moenbryda asked, gently. “He is trying to lure her back, and failing that, make her submit to the Light that corrupts her.”

Hythlodaeus nodded. “We can send you back to her… but this is a fight she must win on her own. I could not force her to leave Hades. Neither can you. It is a choice she must make, and carry through, without our aid.”

“Could you do that?” Moenbryda asked. “Not many men have the strength to live in the shadow of the woman they love.”

Urianger remembered the beginning of all this - the book. The footnote on page five hundred and eighty-three. “I am Urianger Augurelt. I have a predilection for secrecy.” He stood and turned to Hythlodaeus. “And I am nothing, if not, _her_ advisor. Her shadow is where I belong.”

They both smiled at him, and each other, and his body was wracked with pain.

* * *

Urianger hissed quietly between clenched teeth. The Ascian was laughing like the madman he was, and an orb of Light Aether swirled where the Champion had been. 

_’Tis good they said I should do naught but watch, as I am, at present, incapable of much else,_ Urianger thought, unmoving. The pain was near unbearable, and he needed a moment for his aether to replenish itself before he tried anything.

Without warning, the orb of Light erupted in a pillar, rocking the platform with its strength. The Ascian shied away from it, but within, Urianger could see the silhouette of his beloved - the Warrior of Light, in truth, pulling herself to her feet. 

“This world is not yours to end…” a masculine voice slipped past his lover’s lips, strangely familiar to his ears. 

_I know that voice…_ Urianger thought.

“This is our future,” she said, the voice still far deeper than her own. She leveled her gaze, and the rapier, at Emet-Selch. “Our story.”

 _The Warriors of Darkness!_ He remembered their leader, and everything made sense - everything snapped into place. The Hume had been her shard, here, on the First. And she had, _somehow_ , found him, and brought her power within herself. She had performed a rejoining without a Calamity. 

A flicker of fear passed the Ascian’s face, and she stood taller. The Light whipped around her more powerfully, and for a moment, Urianger saw _her_ , the Amaurotine who had, in truth, destroyed all.

“Perhaps…” Urianger whispered, “She and I are more thee than I initially suspected.” He chuckled, and to his mind, it sounded like chiming.

“ _No!_ ”, Emet-Selch said, moving towards her. “It can’t be.”

The Light vanished, and so did the apparition. The Champion glowered at the Ascian, who began mumbling to himself. “Bah, a trick of the light. You are but a broken husk of my _uxor_ , nothing more.” He eyed her. “How can you hope to stand against me alone?”

“We stand _together_ ,” a familiar voice called, and Urianger could have wept with relief. Though he’d been planning the man’s death from the beginning, knowing G’raha Tia yet lived filled him with some strange hope.

Emet-Selch turned to look at the Miqo’te, irritation and disbelief warring on his features - but sure enough, at the far end of the platform, the Crystal Exarch stood, using his staff for support.

“How did-!?” The Ascian began to ask, then shook his head. “I’m surprised you can stand at all.”

“I could not well leave matters half-finished,” the Exarch said. He shifted position, and lifted his staff from the ground. _”Let expanse contract, eon become instant.”_ Aetheric circles of Allagan design appeared in a ring about the Champion, and Urianger knew G’raha Tia was performing a great work. The Ascian turned to see the circles as well, in horror. _“Champions from beyond the rift, heed my call!”_ He slammed his staff down onto the stone, and the summoning was enacted.

“Aah,” Hythlodaeus soft chimes echoed from above him, and Urianger looked up to see the shade watching the battle unfold. A single tear slid from beneath his mask. “There _she_ is.”

Urianger looked back at his beloved, and understood what the Exarch had done. He had summoned them all to her - all the remaining fragments of her Amaurotine soul.

“Damn you!” Emet-Selch hissed. “Damn you all!”

The voice that passed her lips this time was no voice at all, but a soft chiming, like that of the other Amaurotines. “It ends this day, my _vir_. One way or another, it ends.”

A shadow seemed to pass over the Ascian’s face. “Very well. Let us proceed to your final judgement.” He stretched out his hand, as if inviting her to dance. “The victor shall write the tale, and the vanquished become its villain.” He moved toward her, like a predator moving towards its prey. “But come! Let us cast aside titles and pretense, _uxor_ , and reveal our true faces to one another.” 

Dark aether flowed from him, and his Ascian mark appeared before his face. As Urianger stared at it, he saw the tale of Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus, and their lover write large in the repeated triangles, the repeated images of a trinity. 

“I am Hades,” the Ascian’s growled out, his voice taking on an otherworldly echo. “He who shall awaken our brethren from their dark slumber!” More energy poured from his form, and the Champion, her other selves, and the Ascian, all vanished into darkness. 

It was only after they had gone into the great dome Hades had created, that he saw the white auracite where it fell, just outside the circle of the Ascian’s magic.

* * *

“I… will… not… yield.”

The dark chiming of Hades’s voice called Urianger’s attention from his friends, that he had been healing while he waited for the resolution of this battle that would determine not just their fates, but the fate of all the worlds besides. 

“Should I surrender this fight, what will become of it all?” 

“Shall we go in after her?” Y’shtola asked, already lifting her staff towards the dome of darkness in the center of the platform.

“What will become of our triumphs? Our hopes? Our… our despair, _uxor_?”

Thancred picked up the auracite where it lay, now humming with power. “For those we have lost…” he smiled, brittlely, to Y’shtola.

“What of this anguish which yet burns in my breast for you, even after the passing of eons?”

The Miqo’te woman nodded to him. “And those we can yet save.”

“No, no, no! I will not let it all be for naught!”

Thancred launched himself at the dome, raising his gunblade high, and striking it with unparalleled force. 

“My bullet,” Ryne whispered, and the dome shattered.

Thancred tossed the auracite into the air and shattered it with a definitive strike, sending shards throughout the monstrous form Hades had taken. The rest of them stood, and began to channel their aether into the auracite, to bind him. 

“Such... _infernal_... strength…” Y’shtola cried.

The pieces of auracite shattered, rending more and more of Hades’s half of their soul.

The chains that bound the Champion to the Ascian began to tremble, stretching themselves taught to try to keep the two halves together.

“Now, beloved!” Urianger called to her. “Strike with all thy might!”

She nodded, and lifted her hand into the air. The corrupted Light aether blossomed within her, pushing out all of Hades’s darkness, forcing him to retreat into the shattered pieces of their soul. Behind it, Urianger saw their aether, her silver, and the gold he shared with Hythlodaeus, pushing further, pressing the Light out and into her outstretched hand - all of it being urged onward by the Echo, the gift Hydaelyn gave to her creator. 

The Auracite within Emet-Selch shattered, and he advanced on them, roiling with darkness. Hythlodaeus chimed beside Urianger’s ear. “We can do no more,” he said, his voice already fading. “Now all we can do is have courage, and have faith.” Then the chiming faded, and Hythlodaeus was no more.

Together with the others, Urianger held his breath.

The Light that had plagued her through her journey to the first sprang forth, forming into an axe. _Ardbert’s axe,_ Urianger thought, distantly, as the Ascian’s long fingers began to close around her.

She threw it, expertly, as she did anything that involved a weapon, and it span through the air, slicing apart the aetheric chains that _bound_ her, and the other remnants of her Amaurotine soul, before it slammed into Emet-Selch, just above his mask. 

Then all was lost in blinding brilliance.

* * *

When it faded, Emet-Selch stood before her, a gaping hole in his chest, in the robes of an Ascian. He touched the edge of the hole for a moment, then removed his cowl. They stared at each other for a long time.

“Why did you choose him over me?” he asked, quietly.

She bowed her head. “You wanted to chain me to the past. He wants to walk with me into the future.”

He nodded, satisfied with that answer and walked closer to her, taking her hands in his. “Remember,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with pain. “Remember us, my love…”

When he withdrew his hands from hers, she was clutching his mask, and staring down at it. He leaned forward, and kissed the top of her head, a tear sliding down his cheek into her hair. “Remember that I loved you. Remember… that we once _lived_.”

As the Ascian faded away into nothing but ambient aether, her face went pale.

“It’s over,” Alphinaud said. “Emet-Selch is no more!” The boy was excited, relieved even, but only horror bloomed on the Champion’s face.

She fell to her knees, and the scream of despair that tore from her told Urianger a truth even Hythlodaeus had never faced.

Despite his flaws, despite his madness, despite his cruelty, despite everything…

She had loved him.


	30. Il Mheg, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger and Thancred reminisce.

**One Year Later**

“... in the end, ‘twas not my betrayal that cost me her heart,” Urianger said, staring at the glass of brandy in his hand. “‘Twas hers. She could not live with herself, once she remembered Amaurot.” He sighed. “So she has returned to the Source. I have heard, from the Exarch, that she returneth from time to time, but she hath never come here.” 

Thancred frowned at his own glass. “Not once?”

He shook his head. “I still keep the door unlocked. I still keep a lamp lit, in the window.”

“You still wait for her, even now.” It wasn’t a question.

“I will, I think, until the end,” Urianger turned the glass a little, and took another drink. “When I told her I wanted forever, that I would follow her, that I would walk with her, that I would _bind_ myself to her for no other reason than love… I meant it.” Something in Thancred’s face twitched. “What is it, my friend?” 

Thancred shook his head. “Ryne wanted me to take her to the festival at the Crystarium. They’re calling today ‘Nightfall’, and there are plans to make it a regular holiday.” He stretched. “Celebrate the return of darkness to the First and all that.”

“Thou shouldst go, then,” Urianger said, glancing at the sun slipping toward the horizon outside.

“You need me here,” Thancred replied, shaking his head.

Urianger laughed. “If thou dost not take the girl, Alphinaud _will_. The more time they spend alone together, the more likely they are to realize their affections.”

His friend groaned loudly. “I wish you all would come off it, already. I am not permitting her to date. Ever.”

“Permit thee such a circumstance or not, true love will win the day, I fear.” Urianger smiled into his glass, and took another drink.

“Do you really still believe that?” Thancred’s voice was quiet, and his eyes were on Urianger, as if making a decision.

“As I said, my ardor for her hath not changed. If she still chooseth me, then, one day, she will return,” Urianger finished the contents of the glass, set it on the table, and stood. “If not, then at least I had the chance to live such dreams as most men merely imagine.” He turned and crossed to the window behind his desk. 

As Urianger went to close the shutters, he saw Thancred make a subtle hand motion towards the front window in the reflection of the lamplight against the growing darkness. A dart of movement caught his eye, and he saw Y’shtola, outside, standing in the fields beyond the window.

The Elezen closed the shutters, and turned, preparing to ask Thancred what was going on, when a loud knock rattled the front door. He sighed, and stumbled over his books on his way to the door.

When he opened it, to find Feo Ul, in her full regalia as Titania, looming over his doorway.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed, respectfully. “I would invite thee inside, but I fear my ceilings are not vaulted enough for thy radiance.”

“It is well enough [wizard],” she said, watching him. He didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked to Thancred momentarily. “You still owe me a debt. One great working of your magic, that will tax you to the brink.”

He nodded. _Thank the Twelve,_ he thought. _Anything to take my mind off these memories tonight, even an it be some mischief planned by Thancred and this meddlesome fae._ “Tell me thy task, and I shall endeavor to fulfill it.”

“I’m going with him,” Thancred said, coming up behind him, and pushing him outside. 

“As am I,” Y’shtola was now leaning against one of the supports of the cottage.

“Don’t forget us,” Alphinaud said, and pulled Ryne forward beside him. She had her arm in his, and her cheeks were pink. _It seems the boy be as oblivious as I was…_

“Alisaie and the Exarch are seeing to the festival,” she said, as if that explained their absence, when until a few minutes ago, he had no reason to believe their absence out of the ordinary.

Urianger looked about at his friends. “What mischief is afoot?” He locked his gaze on Feo Ul, who smirked like the coeurl that licked the cream bowl. “What is thy task?”

“One great working of your magic,” the pixie repeated, “that will tax you to the brink.” She took his hand, and led him away, towards the high hill covered in hyacinths that overlooked the cottage. At the top of the hill he saw his beloved’s silhouette, her back to him, her unbound hair windblown in the breeze.

Urianger’s heart stopped.

“For what could be more taxing,” the pixie continued, with a giggle, “than trying to keep up with my wretched sapling for eternity?” She paused, watching him for a reaction. When his awestruck look did not fade, Feo Ul let go of his hand, and leaned close to him, whispering in his ear. “And what greater working is there, than love?” She pushed the center of his back, and he stumbled forward.

Once Urianger was in motion, he found he could not stop. His feet carried him forward, racing up the hill in the growing darkness. He called her name, and the next time he looked up, she was facing him.

He felt her fingers first, one hand slipping onto his forearm, the other clutching at his robes.

“Urianger, I’m sorry,” she said. 

“It is going to rain,” he replied, pulling her to his chest. “Let us get thee inside.”

“I was horrible to you,” she continued, but she allowed him to pull her down the hill.

“We shall get thee some tea,” he said.

“I left without a word.”

“Hast thou eaten?” He ignored the others and their giggles hidden behind hands.

“Urianger, are you listening to me?” she asked, stopping him in the doorway.

He looked down at her - her unbraided hair, tangling upon itself; her pale skin, made incandescent by the lamps within the cottage; her soft lips, trembling with fear. “I hath heard thee, my love. Thou wert apologizing.” He stroked the side of her face. “I should tell thee, I forgave thee the moment thou left. I care not what road hath led thee back to me, save that I might offer my thanks that I did not depart this life without seeing thee again.”

“I kept you waiting for a _year_ ,” she argued.

“I had already waited eight, my lady,” Urianger shrugged. “Think’st thou that one more would be a burden?” He laughed. “Another eon would not be too much, an thou return to me, one day.”

“So that’s it?” she said. “You’re not angry? You’re just going to take me back?”

“To take thee back would imply that I let thee go in the first place,” Urianger pressed his lips to her forehead. “My heart and home have been open to thee this whole time, beloved.” He took her hand in his, and smiled, running his thumb over his mother’s ring, still on her hand. “Am I wrong in believing that thou still love me?” She smiled, and he nodded. “Just so, _minette_.”

Thancred coughed awkwardly. “Isn’t there supposed to be a big party now?” The man looked to Feo Ul.

“I did order you to _bind_ her, [wizard],” the King of the Fae reminded him.

“And I shall,” he replied, “but such an intimate act is not for public consumption. Now, if you will excuse us, my future bride and I require privacy.”

Urianger nudged the woman beside him into the cottage, then turned, bowing formally to everyone outside. “Until tomorrow, my friends.” He pushed the door shut, then locked it behind him, for the first time in over a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter because i'm squeezing in one more smut scene before the end (which will be the next chapter) then the epilogue, and we'll be done.


	31. Il Mheg (EX) 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urianger _binds_ his beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, the Epilogue!

Urianger leaned against his door, staring at her anxiously. Though he was glad to have her back, he was suddenly too conscious of everything - his disorganized books, the dirty dishes piled near his makeshift sink, the ink stains on the rug - not to mention his own body. His heart raced in his chest, and so much nervous energy coiled in his hands. He was afraid that if he blinked, she would be gone. He’d awaken, and this was just another dream of her return.

She took a few tentative steps into the room, and placed her hand on his desk. 

“Forgive me, my dear,” Urianger began, “had I known that thou wouldst be -”

“What’s this?” She lifted a piece of vellum, slightly crumpled at the edges, with one of Alphinaud’s drawings on it. Her face looked out at the viewer, raw and wounded.

“When thou had been gone a few weeks, I had asked young Alphinaud if he might provide me with a sketch of thy visage.” He swallowed hard. “I was afraid that one morning I would awaken and not be able to remember thy face.” 

She gently set the portrait on top of a stack of books. “Maybe you could be happier, if you forgot me.”

“What, in the Source and all its reflections, wouldst lead thee to _that_ nonsense?” The very idea that he could find any joy in a world without her in it was absurd.

“I hurt him deeply, over and over again - and then I killed him.” Her back was still to him, but he could see the way her shoulders moved beneath her Doman-style robes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Urianger looked at the ground. “Whether thou wisheth to harm me or not, thou wilt.” She seemed to curl in on herself, but he moved toward her. “Just as I, though I have no intent to hurt thee, will inevitably do so, in ignorance or fear, or a thousand other reasons.”

He smiled fondly to her when she turned to face him, leaning against his desk as he stood before her. “Blame it on our imperfect nature if thou must, but it is the way of all lovers, even those who choose to only share one lifetime - even those that choose not to share a soul.” He swallowed. “To love is to be vulnerable, to give up some part of thyself to thy partner, and say, ‘Do with me what thou wilt.’ Even an they mean no harm, they are, too, imperfect, and shall fail thee at some point. The problem with thy binding to the Ascian was that he could not admit his own faults, his own mistakes, not when it mattered.” 

Urianger ran a hand through his hair. “Of course he was willing to think his issues were insignificant things, like not listening well enough, or not spending enough time with thee. Those were little fixable faults that requireth no fundamental change to his nature. He thought that he could be _bound_ but not controlled, loved but not understood, take but never give. That way lies naught but failure.”

Her eyes searched his face. “If thou wisheth to be _bound_ to me, thou must realize - thou wilt change, just as I will. To a not insignificant degree, thou shalt _be_ me, and I shall _be_ thee. There shall be no escape for either of us, save that final death that thou gave to Emet-Selch. Together we would become something new and different - two whole beings choosing, in ardor, to become one.” Urianger laughed weakly. “‘Tis not a decision made rationally, I fear. But nothing about my feelings for thee are _rational_.”

She giggled behind her hand, and looked up at him. “We’re both horribly prone to dramatics.”

“Aye,” Urianger agreed, “And as the Warrior of Light, and the Warrior of Darkness, thou art known for rushing headlong into things despite the danger.”

“Feo Ul did order you to _bind_ me. You wouldn’t want to risk the ire of Titania,” she said, and lifted herself up to sit on the desk. 

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then she tilted her head. “Urianger?”

“Yes, my lady?” He realized his hands were shaking.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

“I fear this is but another ephemeral phantom of my lonely imaginings. Every hour of every day thou hast been gone, I have imagined thy return.” He lifted one hand toward her, then stopped, hesitating. “I fear that the moment I give in is the moment this dream, too, shall shatter.”

“Before, when I was fighting Hades…” she looked away from him, towards the shelves. “ _She_ told me something.”

Urianger watched her, his hand still hovering between them. 

“She said that her relationships didn’t pan out, because she could not let go and trust either of them. If she had more faith in Raphael, if she had chosen to stand _with_ him against Hades…” She swallowed. “And if she had chosen to trust Hades, Hydaelyn would never have been summoned.” The Champion looked up, into his eyes. “I will not repeat her mistakes. I will trust you, Urianger, even though I’m terrified.” She reached out, and threaded her fingers between his, giving his hand a gentle tug, pulling him closer.

“Raphael was a coward,” he said, abruptly. “He ran from his problems, and pretended they didn’t exist, even as they came to destroy all he loved. He did not confront Hades until the end, and even then it was only to run away, to lure him after.” He closed the distance between them, turning his hand so hers was pressed against his chest, in his grasp.

“I am not Raphael, called Hythlodaeus. I am Urianger Augurelt. I am a vain, selfish, territorial, possessive, arrogant aetherologist. Once I am sure - completely sure - that thou art mine, no power that exists will be permitted to take thee from me, save thine own self.” He bent his head and kissed her, releasing her hand to brace himself against the desk as he leaned over her. 

She wrapped her arms around him, twisting her fingers in his hair, and he groaned into her mouth. He heard the rustle of silk as she sat up straighter, leaning into him. When he desperately needed to breath, he finally released her mouth, gasping for breath. “My lady, I -”

“Take me, Urianger,” she whispered, and all his careful control was undone. He grabbed roughly at the strange sash she wore about her waist, knotted in the Doman style, until he growled in frustration and banished her clothes to the coffee table, sending his robes with them. He looked down at her body and bit his lip, deliciously pleased to see that small shard of aetheryte still hung about her neck, just as the ring still graced her finger.

“Thou art mine,” he whispered, leaning close and brushing his lips over her collarbone. “How long hast thou been mine?” He pushed her onto her back, scattering books and papers, knocking over a vial of ink, letting the contents creep over his work, his desk, her hair. “Tell me truly, beloved, how long have I been pining for a treasure I did not know I possessed?” He leaned down and pressed his lips to her stomach, just above her navel.

“Since the day I met you, in the Waking Sands,” she giggled, the pink of her blush spreading down her body towards him. “You kissed my hand and called me ‘My Lady’, as if I were a woman, not a warrior.”

“Thou art both,” he murmured into her skin as his lips crept their way up her sternum. 

“ _You_ know that, but most people act as though the two are mutually exclusive.” 

Urianger shook his head, and returned his mouth to her neck. “We are surrounded by idiots, _minette_.”

“ _We?_ ” She asked incredulously. “I am laying naked on your desk trying to get you to _fuck_ me, and you’re commenting on misogyny in Eorzea.”

He laughed along the curve of her jaw. “Impatient as ever, I see.”

“How can you be so patient?” she hissed.

“My lady, I am not,” Urianger growled into her ear, and pressed himself inside her. Her back arched, and she purred, much to his delight. He lifted her leg up, slightly, and hooked it over his hip while bringing his knee up onto the desk beside her for more leverage. “Gods,” he gasped as he took her for the first time in an age, “Gods, I missed thee.”

She mewled delicately beneath him, her thighs trying to crush him as he thrust in and out of her in time with the rise and fall of her breasts as she gasped for breath. It was suddenly too much all at once, everything he wanted, everything he _needed_ , everything he had dreamed of for the last year. He shuddered in ecstasy as his climax took him after only a few minutes. “F-Forgive me,” he stammered, still shaking with the intensity of it. “I could not…”

His lover laughed, and pulled him down to kiss her. “I don’t mind. You have the rest of forever to make it up to me.”

Urianger smiled against the smooth skin of her neck. “So I do, my lady.”

* * *

“Like all aetheric workings, the _Binding_ is subject to the will of its weaver,” Urianger said, carefully scrubbing ink from her hair in the claw-footed tub. “Hades and his _uxor_ were chained because they perceived it as chains.”

“What about…?” Her voice trailed off, but he knew of whom she spoke.

He coughed, softly. “Threads, because their _binding_ was hasty and ephemeral. Her goal was not the permanency, but the unification.” She raised an eyebrow, but Urianger shook his head. “‘Tis her tale to tell, not mine. Thou shouldst ask it of her, after. I believe she will tell thee - but please, be discreet. ‘Tis a sensitive topic.”

“Of course. If she hasn’t told me already, it must be.” The Champion reached forward and touched the fae runes that would remove the impurities from the water. It went from an inky blue to clear again almost instantaneously. “What do you think ours will be like?”

He chuckled. “I have some ideas.”

Her smile warmed him far more than the bathwater. “And what are your _ideas_? I suspect you’ve given this much more thought than I.”

“I had thought,” he mumbled, blushing slightly at his own sentimentalism behind her, “that thou might appreciate trees.”

“Trees?” She asked, then tilted her head back so he could rinse her hair. 

“Most trees, my lady, are monoecious, bearing the blooms of both the ‘masculine’ variety, with stamens, and the ‘feminine’ variety, with a stigma. However, there are some trees that are, in fact, dioecious - the entire tree produces only masculine or feminine blossoms.” He let himself slip into the academic, focusing on water moving through her tresses as he recited it like a lesson. “I care little for the genders we might adapt in the future - I have ever been open to anything in my attractions - but it is the symbolism of this that I seek. Those trees that are dioecious; their like cannot continue without the other. They cannot bear fruit, bear seeds, or reach their full potential, without their counterpart.”

She smiled, but said nothing, and he was relieved to see the water running clear from her hair. He’d gotten the ink out at last. He reached one long arm over the side of the tub and lifted the wide-toothed comb she had left the year before, and began running it gently through the ends of her hair.

“One of the most well known dioecious trees is the yew - in ancient days it symbolized immortality, rebirth, change, and regeneration. ‘Tis often a symbol of a connection between one’s past and one’s present.” Urianger continued. “That being said, yew is also quite poisonous, and can bring death if thou wert to try to consume it.” He laughed. “Given its nature, ‘twas a popular bit of topiary to plant two yew saplings together, one male, one female, and twist their trunks so that they fused, becoming one tree with time. Even after mortal hands would stop shaping them, the trunks would continue to grow in that spiral, so enmeshed they were.” 

Urianger stopped combing, and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the back of her head. “If we are to do this, if thou art sure… then I do not wish to chain thee, not even by the tiniest thread. I wish to _grow_ with thee, to change _with_ thee, through all the trials we shall face. I fear that I am as dioecious as the damnable trees - I cannot be the best version of myself without thee by my side.”

They sat in silence for a time, but he did not mind. She was lost in thought, staring at the water, her hand resting on his knee beside her hip, her thumb idly brushing over his skin. The quiet was good - companionable, even - and Urianger continued combing her hair. Once it was free of tangles, he carefully sectioned it off, and began braiding it. Upon reaching the ends, he fumbled about, looking for something to tie it off with, only to see her hand held up beside her shoulder, a worn piece of familiar gold ribbon in her grasp.

“Thou doth carry it still?” He said.

“You should search my pockets sometime. I kept a lot of little things that would remind me of you.” She replied, as he tied the end of her braid off, and brushed it roughly over her shoulder.

He chuckled. “I may just, beloved, if thou art not careful.”

She said nothing, and after a long moment, he realized she was doing it again. Twisting the end of her braid in her hands, a sign that she wanted something, but was afraid to ask. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her, and took her hands in his, while he tilted his head and placed a gentle kiss on her temple. 

“Share thy thoughts, _minette_.”

“I was remembering what you told me, when you proposed,” she whispered. “What your father told you, when you were young: ‘Once thou knowest thy path, thou hast no choice but to walk it.’” 

He nodded, and pressed his lips to her shoulder blade, watching her. 

“All the roads of my life keep bringing me back to you,” she said. “Even when I thought my love was unrequited, we still came back to each other, over and over. And now…” She trailed off for a moment, but smiled. “... now I have almost everything I want. That usually means the other shoe is about to drop.”

“It always does, my lady,” he replied.

She laughed. “Fair enough. I’m ready.”

“Art thou sure? This is the point of no return, I fear.”

She shook her head. “For me, the point of no return was when I woke you from your nightmare, the first night in Il Mheg. When you said you feared failing me.” She leaned back against him, settling into his arms. “That was when I decided I would love you the rest of my life, unrequited or not.”

“Mayhaps,” he said, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. “But once this thing is done, it is _done_. It will not just be this life, but the lives we shall have, until the last star falls from the firmament.” He brought his hands up, wrapping them around her, and tightened his grip. “And I am not the Ascian, my dear. I will _not_ share thee.” He sank his teeth into the skin of her shoulder blade, and she gasped. “If thou art mine, thou art _mine_. Mayhap it is a flaw, and one that I should work on, but at the moment, the idea of any other, man or woman or both or neither, daring to touch thee in an intimate fashion, fills me with fury.” 

Urianger tilted his head up, and bit her earlobe, tugging it gently. “Thy heart will yearn only for me…” He dug his fingernails into her skin. “Thy future will belong solely to me…” He dragged his fingernails down her arms, and he was pleased to see her skin flush in their wake. “Thy body will answer only to me.” He commanded her aether into the configuration he’d perfected in the Crystarium, and she went rigid, moaning as an orgasm shook her.

As she relaxed again, he pressed her forward, and she caught herself on the edge of the tub, while he gripped his cock and guided it into her. She was unusually tight, with her legs forced together by the shape of the tub, and he leaned back, savoring the feeling of her passage slick with water and her arousal, unable to deny him entry. 

“Twelve,” he growled, grinding himself into her with one hand on her hip. With his free hand, he reached up and grabbed her braid at the base of her skull, dragging her back against his chest. “Forgive me, my lady, but I yearn to be rough with thee,” Urianger murmured into her ear. “Dost thou…” She clenched internally, and for a moment he lost all the words he had meant to say, but soon came back to himself. “Dost thou remember thy safe word?”

She nodded, and murmured it to him, then said, “I’m not saying it again, Urianger. I don’t want you to stop.” He caught her chin in his hand, pushing her head back against his shoulder so he could stare down at her body.

“Good, because I have no plans to stop until I have had my fill of thee,” he hissed. “Thou hast a year of sleepless, lonely nights to make amends for, _minette_.” Urianger nuzzled her neck. “And I have spent too long amongst the fae to accept any less than my due.” 

“W-what do you think you are d-due?” She asked, her voice wavering with delight every time he thrust himself inside her.

“Everything,” he hissed. “I want thee, body and soul. All that thou hast to give, I want it to be mine. I want thee _bound_ to me. I want thee to marry me. I want to fall asleep beside thee every night until the end of time.” He groaned as his head spun with all the possibilities. “I want thee to give me love. I want thee to give me thy future. I want thee to give me children. I want thee to give me all that thou art, as long as thou shalt _be_.” 

He pulled his hand from her hip, now that she was writhing, and moved it around to her clit. She cried out as he began swirling his finger around it, while his teeth pressed into her skin. He wasn’t going to last, and he knew it. He tried to bring his mind together enough to push another orgasm on her, but then her body shuddered into bliss without his interference, and he only needed to hang on until her gasps and twisting pushed him naturally over the edge.

“Art thou all right?” he murmured into her ear when they were both spent, melting into each other in the bath.

“Mmhmm,” she whispered, her eyes still closed. She stretched one leg forward and rubbed her toe over the runic circle to clean the water, then rolled over, letting his flaccid member slip out of her as she curled up on his chest.

They spent a long time in the afterglow, letting the water grow tepid around them while they held each other close in silence. He ran his hand down her back tenderly, entranced by the way their chests rose and fell together, their breathing, their heartbeats, their aether, all perfectly in sync.

Finally, she spoke. “I’m ready, Urianger. I want you to _bind_ me to you. What do I have to do?” 

Her hand flexed nervously on his chest, and so he took it in his own. “Relax, _ma moitié_ , and reach for me with thy aether. I will handle the rest.”

“I love you, Urianger,” she whispered, as he felt her aether, free from corruption, swell within her.

“I know, else thou wouldst not put up with mine idiosyncrasies.” He chuckled. “But I love thee, as well.” He kissed her, softly. “Now hush, let me work.”

The _Binding_ , he found, was much easier to perform than he realized. Having been in resonance for so long, even when she was gone from him, their aether eagerly twisted together, wrapping their souls about each other in a tight spiral while he grafted branches and leaves that reached through them both, holding them tightly together, until he couldn’t quite tell which parts were her, and which parts were him. He kept wondering, if and when he would know it was enough, until suddenly, all at once, the working slipped from his grasp, and stayed. A change rippled through their soul, leaving it a solid piece: one, single tree, crafted from the two.

“It is done,” Urianger whispered, and when she kissed him, it felt like coming home.


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue

Y’shtola Rhul sat on the edge of the drop from the palace gardens over Longmirror Lake, watching the cottage known as Bookman’s Shelves.

Well, truth be told, she was watching the swirls of silver and gold aether that marked her dearest friend, her heart-sister, and the man she had given her heart to. If she had to live with… _this_ , she at least wanted to see what it was when it was done right, so she would know where she had failed.

She knew Urianger would not make a mistake.

Beside her, Thancred sat, sipping something that caused his ambient aether to spin lazily. She didn’t look directly at the soul. She never did, with Thancred, but she held out her hand expectantly, and he passed her the flask. Their fingers brushed as she took it, and she winced internally - both at the way his touch affected her, and his own indifference. She took a sip, and handed it back. 

A moment later, the working began, and she snorted. “Of course it’s a pair of godsbedamned yew,” she said, and the Titania, a pixie named Feo Ul, chuckled.

* * *

Alphinaud continued working in his sketchbook, trying to perfect this landscape he was working on, to present to the Champion and Urianger as a wedding present - the sun setting behind the hills near Bookman’s Shelves. He was glad he had a near-eidetic memory for images, because every time he lost focus for even a moment, _Ryne’s_ face appeared underneath his pen, not sunsets or hyacinths or cottages. He decided he was too distracted to focus on his sketching anyway right now, and closed the book, ignoring the fact that more than half of its pages were filled with her face.

“Of course it’s a pair of godsbedamned yew,” Y’shtola said, and he looked up, casting upon himself to see aether. While he could not see the trees Y’shtola seemed to perceive, he could see that the couple in the house’s souls had been unified in a dizzyingly complex pattern. 

On the one hand, he marvelled at Urianger’s handiwork; that man had _forgotten_ more about aetherology than Alphinaud could learn in a lifetime. On the other, it affirmed his suspicions about Y’shtola and Thancred. He desperately wanted to ask, but Urianger’s warning held him off, for now.

* * *

The Crystal Exarch wandered through the festival in the Exedra, into the Wandering Stairs. He did not normally drink, but it was a special occasion, and one toast would not be the death of him.

As he entered, a cheer went up, and he scanned the crowd, smiling kindly. His smile faltered, however, when he saw Alisaie in a booth in the back, surrounded by empty bottles, her head buried in her arms, her shoulders shaking with sobs. No one else seemed to even notice her.

He approached her table, and slid into the booth beside her.

“Hello, Alisaie.”

* * *

“Hello, Alisaie,” she looked up, and gasped, seeing the Exarch sitting beside her, his cowl lowered. 

“Gods,” she said, “Sorry…” she began wiping her eyes with one hand, and trying to organize the bottles, as if making them seem more orderly would magically make her less drunk.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, softly. “I know that this can’t be easy for you.” 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s not easy. I should be happy for them, but I’m not,” She turned to him, and bared her teeth. Why did he have to be so damn _understanding_? “I’m furious. I feel hurt and betrayed and I hope I never see either of them again. Instead I just get to sit here, alone, watching the two people I _long_ for have everything I ever wanted for myself with each other instead.”

A waitress came by, and he ordered a bottle of wine. “Just the bottle, thank you. I will be taking it with me.”

Alisaie laughed. “Probably a good idea. You don’t want to be near me when I’m like this.”

“Actually, I was going to invite you with me, head up to the Baldaquin - the watchtower, over by the rookery - and share a drink in peace, away from the crowd?” he said, softly. 

She watched him for a few moments, then nodded. “All right, G’raha.”

* * *

Thancred took his flask back from Y’shtola, and took another sip. He tried not to think about the way he could taste her lips on the rim, that subtle swipe of cinnamon. 

“Well, at least that’s done with, and we can stop wondering if they’ll get over the _drama_ of it all and just fuck already,” he said.

“They’ve been fucking for hours,” The Miqo’te beside him replied.

“Language, Y’shtola,” he chided, “There are children present.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t look at him. She never looked at him, and he didn’t know why he hated that.

* * *

Ryne bit her lip, awkwardly. Alphinaud had been drawing again, and she pushed away the desire to see his sketchbook. She wondered what things he found fascinating enough to include within. Maybe one day he’d even deign to draw _her_. 

She shook her head, banishing the thought. Alphinaud didn’t really see her. She was just a puzzle, like everything else. He taught her the basics of magic because Urianger suggested it, not because he actually wanted to spend time with her.

The girl looked up at the moon, swollen full, and high amidst the stars. She wished her heart could be like the moon - distant and remote and untroubled by things like love and Calamities and cute older boys like Alphinaud Leveilleur.

“Language, Y’shtola,” Thancred said, pulling Ryne out of her thoughts. “There are children present.”

Y’shtola scoffed, and leaned against a nearby pillar, and the girl decided to make her move.

“Ahem,” Ryne called, getting everyone’s attention. “It’s been a year. On the dot.”

Thancred groaned and pulled a sack of gil out of his pocket, dropping it into the girl’s palm. Y’shtola’s own bag soon followed. 

“You know,” her adoptive father said, glowering, “for someone who’s not even supposed to be in this game, you’re devilishly good at it.”

“You’re just angry because we all got swindled by a fourteen year-old,” Y’shtola shot back, and the two adults began bickering again. 

Ryne ignored them, instead drifting closer to Alphinaud. 

“R-right, you won the bet,” he seemed awkward. “You wanted a present.”

She giggled. “Not just any present, Alphinaud. Something you _made_ specifically for me.” 

Ryne was surprised when he reached for his satchel instead of his notebook, and pulled out a small box. “H-here,” he said, practically shoving it into her hands, before he lifted his tome in front of his face, and went back to reading.

She didn’t notice the way his eyes peeked over the top of the text, or the way he bit his lip as she opened the box, anxious and eager to see her reaction to what was within.

* * *

Feo Ul and the other pixies were clustered around one of the balconies of the Voeburtite palace, watching all the mortals dance through their various stages of romance.

Sul Uin sighed nearby. “You really are the best king.”

“Yes,” Feo Ul nodded in agreement. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urianger and his other half will be back in the future fics in this series (as an established, background pair). The prologue for the second fic, _All Over You_ , is already up on the site if you'd like to continue following this story.
> 
> I'd like to thank each and every one of you for all the support you've shown me during this process. When I started, I didn't think I would be able to write something this massive, and it has been an absolute delight to see this work unfold so easily with the confidence you guys gave me. I can only hope in my other writings I will continue to enjoy your support.
> 
> Unrelated to Finding Forever on the First, I am also going to be posting an Emet-Selch/WOL fic using a browser extension called "InteractiveFics" that lets you directly sub in your WOL's name. The prologue for that should be up later today.
> 
> Thank you again for everything, and hopefully, I'll hear from you soon!


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